


You Know I Dreamed About You

by kayclandestine



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayclandestine/pseuds/kayclandestine
Summary: The pre-NHL AU where Patrick Kane and Jonathan Toews meet and fall in love at the Blackhawks convention.





	You Know I Dreamed About You

**Author's Note:**

> I almost don’t know what to say because there is so much I’d like to say. I wish I could tell you how many years I’ve been writing fic for these two, and count how many dozens of unfinished Kane/Toews works that amount to hundreds of thousands of words I have saved on this laptop. This fic was my attempt to write a small and simple Kane/Toews that I would actually have a hope of finishing, and of course it’s about seven times longer than I ever imagined. But it’s done!  
>   
> The obvious – it’s an AU, so some of the details are a little handwavy – the Blackhawks convention was moved to May instead of July when it’s always been held so it could be before Jonny’s draft in June, and they started holding the Blackhawks convention years before they actually started it. Not sure how many people have been to the convention or to Chicago, but I tried to make the details as accurate as possible even though I know some of the workings have changed since the beginning (I’ve been four times and it is the best and I’ve gotten to meet Patrick Kane that way so if you have the chance to, go!). Sorry if there are any errors about the Blackhawks roster from twelve years ago that I messed up – I tried!  
>   
> Also – I did not mark this as ‘underage’. The age of consent in Illinois is 17 – in this story it’s May of 2006 so Jonny has just turned 18 and Patrick is 17 since he’s a November birthday. If you think this should be tagged please let me know.  
>   
> Beta'd by myself, so I am so sorry if there's any mistakes. I also apologize because it's been four years since I've posted on AO3 and it took me four hours to format this correctly and it's still not totally right and I have no idea why and my heart is broken, honestly.  
> I know in my head this could’ve been so much better, but I’m in my last year of graduate school writing a thesis, so I’m just so happy I actually finished this and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you so much for reading – it means so much to me to share my love for these two with others.

Patrick has just turned down South State Street from LaSalle. It’s a few minutes after midnight, and he’s just off an eleven-hour bus ride from Buffalo. He had tried to sleep a few different times - shut his music off and reclined his seat back as far as it would allow, but he found himself with too much energy and too much excitement to really relax. Instead he’d spent most of the time fiddling with his phone, shuffling through his iPod, texting back and forth with his sisters who are currently begging him for autographs from the various rookies that are definitely going to be there – which, what the fuck, no – he’s killing that idea before it even starts. He’s not doing anything to encourage their interest in dating hockey players. He’ll bring them a Bobby Hull or Dennis Savard or someone like that instead, if he’s lucky enough to get them.

  
It’s Patrick’s fifth year going to the Blackhawks Convention, but the first time he’s going by himself. Patrick honestly never thought he’d be able to go back between his hockey schedule and helping his mom with his sisters and the shifts he’s picked up at his dad’s shop so he has some spending money over the year when he’s away playing hockey, but he’d come home for a few weeks to his family feeling insanely guilty about him missing normal teenage things like prom and homecoming and missing normal family things like their vacation to Florida that a convention pass was there, just one for him, so he could steal a few days to meet some of the greatest guys to ever play the game he loves. His whole family had gone the first year or two, and then his sisters had gotten older and started to have a million different things going on so the next few years had just been him and his dad. It was nice just the two of them – waking up at the crack of dawn so they could be first on the best autograph lines, eating Lou Malnati’s deep dish on their hotel beds when they were too exhausted to wait an hour for a table, and casually talking to the ice girls without his mom and sisters there to glare at them. But with one of the girls in the shop out on maternity leave, and one of the guys in the shop out for a few weeks with a broken leg, his dad couldn’t get away this year, so his parents had both insisted he go and enjoy himself anyway.

He readjusts the straps on his backpack, taking in the familiar back streets of Chicago. They’re relatively empty tonight; he passes some people wearing Columbia College t-shirts and a few couples dressed up like they’re going to or coming from dinner. There’s been several groups of kids on bicycles, yelling and racing each other down the sidewalk, one of them almost knocking into Patrick and sending him flying. It feels warm but there’s a coolness in the air – the way he always remembers Chicago at night this time of year. Patrick turns onto Harrison and then onto south Wabash so that he’ll come up on the Hilton Chicago from the back and be able to sneak by reception.

Normally his parents get a hotel room at the Hilton, since the convention’s been held there every year, but they were completely sold out of rooms by the time they’d bought his pass. And normally Patrick is so good at not lying to his mom, especially for a teenage boy who doesn’t live home anymore, but he honestly lied about the reservation he’d been able to make at the Congress Plaza just a few blocks down the street and is just planning to kick it on any of the couches he can find in the Hilton instead. He’s met a lot of kids in the past years who go to the convention with their friends, and they all manage to just spend the night loitering on different floors without getting kicked out, so he figures one kid by himself shouldn’t draw too much attention. Plus, he’s used to sleeping on airplanes and buses and a whole bunch of other uncomfortable places that he’s sure he can make it work on the floor for a night or two, and save the money for more important things like food and merchandise.

Patrick recognizes the Hilton as soon as it comes into view, its windows stretching into the night sky, the dark stone of the exterior reflecting off the lights from the hotel across the street. He stops for a moment and looks at the side entrance, remembering the exact spot where he got an autograph from Michael Nylander one year because his dad had quite effectively blocked his car from being able to drive away. There’s a sign already stretched across the top of it, announcing to everyone that it’s the weekend of the Blackhawks convention, but he doesn’t see any additional security or people hanging around, so he breathes a sigh of relief as he crosses the street.

Patrick does see a group of people gathered behind the Hilton. They’re a ways ahead of him, past the door that he plans on entering through, so he doesn’t pay them much attention. He gets a better view of them the farther he gets down the sidewalk, and is embarrassingly thankful that they look like a group of teenagers, boys and girls alike, around his own age. Not that Patrick can’t win if he gets in a fight but like, there’s a lot more of them than there are of him, and he doesn’t exactly want to have to tell his mom he got mugged on the back streets of Chicago walking to his hotel at midnight.  
When he pulls open the door to the back entrance, there’s only three other people already camped out on the line for the opening ceremony. “Nice,” he says to himself, even though he knows those three people are probably saving spots in line for twenty or thirty other people, but that’s still close enough for him to get up against the center aisle so he can high five every player on the team. He and his dad have ended up a lot farther back in the line before and still have managed to make it right up against the stage where the players process in. Part of that was probably because he used to be a lot shorter and he thinks some people felt guilty about blocking his view but like, whatever. There isn’t a year he’s missed out on high-fiving the whole team. He counts it as a pretty big accomplishment.

The first person in line is passed out in a sleeping bag and the other two are sitting cross-legged and listening to music on their iPods, so he picks a spot a little farther down the wall that’s next to an outlet and slides down to the floor. He takes his backpack off and puts it next to him so he has something to lean up against, and is considering settling in for a nap when he gets a text from Erica about how his mom is freaking out because he hasn’t called home yet, which is kind of crazy because Patrick’s already texted her about a dozen times between the eleven hours he was on the bus and on his walk over to the Hilton. He doesn’t even try to argue though; it’s his mom and she let him go alone for the weekend to Chicago, so he’s not trying to piss her off.

Patrick leaves his backpack where it is and goes outside so he doesn’t disturb the woman who’s asleep a few feet away from him. The group of people are standing a lot closer to the door now, and he can see most of them are wearing Blackhawks t-shirts, so he figures they must also be here for the convention. His mom picks up on the second ring, and she asks all about the bus ride and if he made it to the Congress Plaza okay and what his hotel room is like, and then she starts talking about Jackie and Jessica’s dance classes and what happened at his dad’s shop today like he didn’t see his whole family this morning and this is super pressing information. He doesn’t say anything though, since at least talking to his mom helps to pass the time, plus he might still have a bit of a buzz going from when he smoked at the rest stop in Michigan.

He’s good about his health during the season, or at least he thinks he is compared to most guys around his age, and he does try to watch what he puts in his body so that it doesn’t impact his game or like, work to stunt his growth or something. Which he hasn’t found any scientific proof for, but his mom keeps saying that doing drugs will impact his height, and he really can’t risk finding out if that’s true or not since he doesn’t have much going for him in that department in the first place. Patrick only smokes weed every once in a while when he isn’t being drug tested since one of his friends that he still plays roller hockey with over the summer has a pretty decent hook up, and he still passes his drug test before the start of every season. Patrick thinks it works out great.

What is not working out great is how loud the group next to him is getting now that they’ve moved closer to the doors and are standing only a few feet away from him, and how his mom keeps asking who the loud voices belong to. He keeps saying it’s the television, except his mom keeps asking why can’t he put the television on mute, and he has to keep telling her that it’s because he lost the remote somewhere in the sheets. He’s pretty sure his mom isn’t buying that at all, but eventually she lets him go without blatantly telling him she thinks he’s lying.

Patrick glances back over his shoulder through the glass door; his backpack is still where he left it, and no one else has joined the line, so he feels like he can chill outside for a little longer and stretch his legs since he knows he’s about to spend the next sixteen hours waiting around inside.

“Finally!” he hears someone yell, and he glances over to where the group is standing. They’ve all turned and are looking down the street at a guy and girl approaching them, their arms filled with plastic bags.

“Did you guys stop to bang in an alley?” one of the guys in the group asks asks. A few people laugh, and the guy carrying most of the bags just stops and gives him a look.

“Take your shit and watch your mouth, Jake,” he says, shoving one of the bags in the guy’s chest.

“Hey, hey, Dan, no disrespect toward you and your girl,” the guy who Patrick is guessing is Jake responds, pulling a Red Bull out of the bag and then passing it to the guy standing next to him.

“If you wanted someone who was going to run there and back carrying all these bags, you probably should’ve sent Jonny,” the girl says, and then everyone in the group does start laughing.

“Bet I could’ve done it in nine minutes, with an extra bag,” someone says, and Patrick’s gaze shifts over to the boy who’s twisting the cap off a bottle of water, who he’s guessing is Jonny.

And fuck him, because Jonny is like, really attractive. Patrick’s already been doing a lot more staring and eavesdropping on this group than he needs to be, but the fact is like, he’s pretty bored now that his sisters have gone to sleep and most of his friends are doing who-knows-what but not texting him back, and this Jonny kid is like, someone to stare at. He doesn’t look that much older than Patrick, but he’s tall and tanned and his t-shirt looks like it was made to fit his body. He’s smiling at one of his friends, and it’s this kind of side smile that’s stupidly endearing and preventing Patrick from trying to stop staring at his face.

Thankfully no one in the group seems to have noticed that Patrick is watching them, so he goes back to his phone where he’s giving Sam shit for not texting him back when he’s probably just home playing video games rather than doing anything that’s actually fun or exciting.

“Dude, did you forget the lighter?”

“Shit,” Dan says, looking around in the bag that he’s still holding. “Halls, do you have it?”

Another one of the boys is rummaging around in the bag that he’s holding. “Nah, man. Not in here.”

“Damn it,” Dan replies, looking at the girl standing next to him. “I bet the cashier left it on the counter.”

“Oh, come on,” Jake says, literally looking like the news is comparable to finding out the world is going to end or like, the hockey season was canceled due to a lockout (again). “That was like, the most important thing we asked you to get.”

“Chill, alright?” Dan hands the bag he’s holding to the girl. “I can run back and get it.”

“Hey! You got a lighter?”

It takes Patrick more than a second to realize that everyone in the group has turned to look at him. There’s eight of them, he’s finally counted, three girls and five boys, but they’ve all turned at the same time to look at him where he’s leaning against the brick wall on the backside of the Chicago Hilton.

“What?” It’s not Patrick’s most creative reply, but he’s still not sure they’re definitely talking to him. He thinks of looking to see if there’s someone standing next to him, except he feels like number one, he’d look pretty ridiculous doing so and number two, it would be pretty fucking creepy if it turns out someone has been standing next to him this whole time.

“Like, a lighter?” It’s the guy who’s drinking the Red Bull who’s asking him, Jake, Patrick remembers despite the slight slowness of his brain at the moment, who’s peering around one of the guys standing closer to Patrick to get better look at him. He’s probably realizing that Patrick looks like a fourteen-year-old who has no reason to be carrying a lighter on him.

“Uh, yeah,” Patrick says, and starts fishing around in his pockets. It’s kind of embarrassing because the one he eventually finds in the back pocket of his jeans actually has a maple leaf on it and even says ‘Canada’; he bought it with the team at one of the bus stops when they were heading to an away game in the spring, and he wasn’t being particularly picky at the time – just trying to grab it and pay before his coach saw him.

He walks closer to the group and reaches across them to hand it over.

“Thanks man, you’re a fucking life saver,” the guy says, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his back pocket. “You Canadian?” he asks, after lighting one of them and then passing the lighter over to Dan, who’s pulling a metal tin out of his backpack.

“Fuck no,” Patrick responds, and most of the group laughs. He glances around the circle now that he can seem them better, and they look normal enough, so definitely like they’re (probably) not planning on mugging him. “Just play hockey there.”

“That’s awesome. Want to bum one?” Jake asks, holding his packet of cigarettes out in Patrick’s direction.

“No, thanks, man,” Patrick replies, shoving his hands in his pocket. He knows a lot of people that smoke cigarettes, in Canada especially he sees a lot of kids his age doing it, but none of the guys on his team have ever touched them. He thinks if any of the coaching staff found out that any of them were smoking, they’d probably be thrown off the team. “Hockey, you know.”

The guy laughs, nodding his head at one of the boys standing on the other side of the circle. “You sound like Jonny.”

Patrick glances over at Jonny, who’s staring really intently at him, his mouth pulled in a thin line and his arms crossed over his chest. Jonny’s a lot taller now that he’s that much closer, but in no way does Patrick think he is that much hotter now that he’s able to get a better look at him. Even though he can see how much bigger the muscles in his arms are this close up. Absolutely, definitely not hotter.

And it’s weird, and Patrick knows there’s absolutely no way, but the more he stares at Jonny, the more he feels like he looks familiar. There’s an odd feeling that has him a bit shaken, because he’s not sure if Jonny looks familiar or feels it, like, there’s just something that seems so familiar about him. Like Patrick knows him, even though Patrick can’t place his face at all. And Patrick honestly can’t imagine forgetting a face that looks anything like Jonny’s.

“Smoking affects chest expansion and lung function. Not gonna be able to keep up with the best if you can’t breathe,” Jonny says, and Patrick can’t help to think of his mom even though Jonny forgot the part where smoking stunts your growth (possibly).

Jake audibly rolls his eyes at Jonny, like this is probably the fifth time he’s hard that sentence today, and Patrick laughs. Dan hands the lighter back to him after he passes what is definitely a joint he’s lit to the girl standing next to him.

“Jonny here’s NHL bound,” Dan says, nodding in his direction, and Jonny looks down.

“Hopefully,” Jonny adds. The joint makes it to him and he passes it to the guy he’s standing next to without even looking at it.

“That’s awesome,” Patrick replies. The joint reaches him and he passes it blindly to the girl he’s closest to, even though there’s a part of him that would love to take a hit. It would probably help him fall asleep, even though he’s starting to feel the exhaustion creeping into his bones. “Are you guys all here for the convention?” he asks. A few of them nod.

“Yeah, man. We’ve been here every year since number one,” Jake replies, holding a finger up to emphasize his point. “Same with you?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nods. He’s starting to feel really fucking tired, and he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome if they’re like, all hanging out together as friends. He’s not trying to be a ninth wheel or whatever. “Well I’ll see you guys around, alright?”

“Definitely, man. Yo, I’m Jake,” the guy holds out his hand for one of those bro high-fives Patrick does with all of his friends. “This is Dan, Crystal, Halls, Jen, Allison, Jonny, and Mac.”

“See you around,” Patrick says, and nods as he turns away and heads back inside. No one else has joined the line and it’s after one in the morning, so Patrick figures it’ll be just the four of them for the next few hours. No one’s kicked any of them out either, even though they’re all asleep on the floor now, which is an even better sign. Patrick settles himself down next to his backpack and plugs his phone charger into the outlet. He pulls a sweatshirt out of his bag to use as a pillow and fishes his iPod out of one of the pockets.

Patrick’s not sure when he dozes off or how long he sleeps for, but when Patrick wakes up it’s because his cell phone vibrates in his hand. He opens his eyes and groans – of course, it’s fucking Sam playing video games ‘til who knows what the fuck time in the morning and texting him probably just to be a dick. He starts to push himself up off his backpack, cracking his neck in the process, except when he looks up, Jonny’s looking down at him.

“Uh, hi,” Patrick says, trying to rub some of the sleep out of his eyes. Jonny’s sitting with his back against the wall and his elbows resting on his knees, but his head is turned completely to the side and he’s staring down at Patrick, just watching him silently. Patrick runs a hand through his curls, because he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be saying anything else, like how creepy it is that Jonny was (or might’ve been) watching him sleep. None of the rest of the group are sitting next to Jonny, and when Patrick glances down at his phone he sees it’s just after 5:30 in the morning. At least he got a few hours of sleep in.

“Hi,” Jonny says. Patrick looks away, because it kind of feels like Jonny is studying his face. He glances around and sees that everyone else in line is still asleep, two of them knocked out on top of their backpacks like he was. “Get some sleep?”

Patrick turns back to look at him. “Yeah, a few hours.” He opens the text from Sam just so he has something to do but stare at Jonny’s face. He’s kind of unfairly good looking when his face is this close and Jonny’s sitting really fucking close to him right now, like personal space is not a concept he’s familiar with. “Did you?”

Jonny smiles, and Patrick isn’t being a fucking romantic or anything that lame but he’s pretty sure his heart stops. Like, who the fuck is allowed to have a smile that makes their face look like that?

“Yeah, I just got down here. We’re all sharing a room upstairs so I switched with Mac.”

“All of you are in the same room?” Patrick asks. “Like, the whole group of you?” Jonny nods his head. “Is that even like, allowed?”

Jonny laughs. “Uh, not really. Don’t think anyone’s figured that out yet. But we’ve got two beds and a bunch of people brought sleeping bags and are just crashing on the floor. It brings the price of a room down a lot, makes it affordable for everyone to stay in the hotel here.”

Patrick doesn’t respond, just nods his head, honestly a bit impressed. He wonders if he can like, find some people on Craigslist looking for someone to bum with them at the Hilton so he has a chance at a bed and a shower for the next two nights.

“Are you not here with anyone?” Jonny asks.

“Nah,” Patrick says. He settles so that his back is against the wall and he and Jonny are sitting parallel to each other. “I used to come every year with my family and then just me and my dad, but he couldn’t get away from work right now so this year I’m by myself.”

“Are you staying at the Hilton?” Jonny asks.

Patrick scratches the back of his neck. “Kind of? But not exactly. I’m just kind of crashing the next few nights. Didn’t really have time to get a hotel room. Don’t really have a lot of money saved up since I’m playing during the year.”

Jonny finally stops looking at him and stares at the carpet that’s covering the floor in front of them. “That sucks. We tried that, one year. Got kicked out too, ‘cause there were so many of us and we were being too loud. All of us in one room works out okay,” he says delicately, nodding like he’s listening to some imaginary music in his head.

“Where do you play?” Jonny asks then, turning to look back at him.

“Uh,” Patrick starts. Which is admittedly not the best start of any sentence. He considers lying for a second, because Jonny seems like the type to know a bit about hockey, especially since, what the fuck – it just catches up to him that someone said Jonny might be NHL-bound, which is insane. “Yo, are you like, gonna be in the NHL?” Patrick asks, and then it’s Jonny chance to look away again.

“I think I asked you first,” he says, eventually, and he’s got this little smile on his face like maybe Jonny thinks that’s a really great response even though it’s a total cop out, but Patrick will let it slide.

“The London Knights,” he replies, meeting Jonny eyes when he says it. Jonny’s eyes are such a dark brown they almost look black, and they’re so focused on him that Patrick almost called hold his gaze.

“You must be good,” Jonny says, nodding his head again.

Patrick tries to shrug, because he does try to keep everything in perspective, but Patrick is good, he knows it and his coaches know it and his family knows it.

“What’s your name?” Jonny asks.

“Patrick Kane,” he replies. He’s turned his body a bit more towards Jonny’s so he doesn’t have to speak as loudly. Not that there’s anyone listening, but he doesn’t want to wake anyone up or attract a staff member’s attention and get them all kicked out. And honestly, he really just doesn’t want anyone else to hear him talking to Jonny.

“I thought so. Patrick Kane.” Jonny says his name back to him, and Patrick tries to break the eye contact but he can’t. Now he really feels like Jonny is searching him, searching his face, seeing into his soul or some deep shit like that. Long moments of silence pass between them before Jonny speaks again.

“You played for the Junior Flyers.” Except Jonny says it, doesn’t ask it, says it like he’s absolutely knows what he’s saying is true. He’s nodding his head again just a little, like he’s answering himself, his eyes a little wide. “Patrick Kane.”

Patrick’s mouth definitely doesn’t drop open, but he can’t lie that the last thing he was expecting this random kid he met a few hours ago that’s sitting next to him at almost six in the morning on the floor of the Chicago Hilton was going to bring up was the Junior Flyers, a team Patrick played for years ago and can’t remember the last time he thought about. “Yeah, I did.”

“We played together,” Jonny says. “When we were thirteen. I remember you.”

And then it’s time for Patrick to really stare. He’s played with so many people over the years it’s honestly hard for him to remember half the time. They play together for a season or so, they leave for somewhere else, and then they end up playing together again in national tournaments or development camps, and with the impact that age and years have on their faces and their bodies, most of the time he remembers but sometimes he doesn’t.

“Shit, man,” Patrick says, leaning back against the wall and stretching his legs out in front of him. It kind of feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Maybe that explains why something about Jonny does feel familiar – has honestly felt so familiar since the moment he got a good look at him outside. He remembers, a little bit, memories he hasn’t attempted to retrieve in years hazy but coming back to him. “We know each other. What a small fucking world.”

Jonny laughs then. It’s a low sound, and Jonny leans back and stretches his own legs out in front of him. It allows Patrick to realize just how much shorter he is than Jonny, so he pulls his knees back up to his chest and rests his elbows on them.

“Jonathan Toews. Sophomore at UND. 2006 NHL draft class. Former center for the Junior Flyers.”

Patrick laughs, feels the dimples in his cheeks. When he looks back at Jonny, Jonny’s still looking at him, his mouth twisted up at the corner, and Patrick swears on his life that his heart does not do anything remotely close to skipping a beat or any dumb shit like that (but maybe it does).

They spend the night that way. Patrick tries not to be like, honest-to-god amazed at how he and Jonny just click together. They argue a bit, because Jonny has some dumb opinions that it’s Patrick’s ethical and moral obligation to try to correct, but it feels like they talk about everything. Hockey and family and movies and music and friends. The time just passes somehow, somewhere between the two of them, even as people start to join them in line, even as the sun starts to creep in through the entryway and the sidewalk outside gets steadily more crowded, and it’s after eight in the morning when Jonny’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket.

“Hold on a sec,” he says, doing this (not sexy at all) lift of his hips so he can pull it out of his pocket. He flips it open and Patrick just continues to drown in the sound of his voice. It’s deep, and he has an accent that creeps in at particular words, and Jonny talks more diplomatically than anyone he’s ever met, which might be the Canadian in him or the college education. Jonny had indicated to him that he gets good grades, just in case the hockey doesn’t work out.

“Do you want breakfast?” Jonny turns to ask him, and that’s definitely the best question he’s been asked in ever. “My friends are heading down the street.”

“Yes,” Patrick says, sitting up straighter. “Coffee.”

“What type of coffee?”

“Uh, where are they going? Anything with sugar in it.”

Jonny frowns back at him, like his entire opinion of Patrick has changed in an instant (hopefully not). “Sugar’s bad for you. You don’t drink it black?”

“Coffee tastes disgusting. People only think people drink it black because they all sneak sugar in it,” Patrick replies, which is definitely a fact, because he’s noticed all the guys on the hockey team and even his own parents doing it.

Jonny rolls his eyes and Patrick laughs, because Jonny tells them to get Patrick something with sugar in it anyway, so he totally wins that one even if Jonny asks for them to pick up breakfast sandwiches without bacon.

Mac joins them a few minutes later, nodding hello at Patrick as he sits down in front of them before going on to complain how Jen was definitely giving Jake a handy in the bed that they won over a (very suspect) game of poker, even though Mac was supposed to get a bed because he was the one who had the closest bet to how long it would take Dan and Allison to go to the 7-11 and get them all the shit they asked for (it took them 26 minutes; he guessed 27).

There’s a lot of commotion that’s started around them. A security guard (Patrick thinks) comes along to make sure they’re all lined up against the wall and not blocking foot traffic/causing a fire hazard, there’s at least two girls that keep coming to sell tickets to the Blackhawks training camp in September, and there’s a handful of other official looking people that pass by, cell phones jammed to their ears, looking way too frenzied for nine o’clock in the morning. That’s what time it is when the rest of Jonny’s group finally joins, carrying along with them coffee and bags of food from Pete’s Coffee that all smells amazing.

Jake hands Patrick some sort of coffee concoction that’s definitely laden with sugar and tastes like everything Patrick has ever dreamed of, and none of them act like it’s strange that Patrick’s there, or they even care that Patrick’s basically hanging out with them now. Patrick has enough convention experience to know that that’s just how it is sometimes when you’re waiting in line together for hours, but they all settle in together like Patrick’s one of them, making fun of how Jonny is glaring at any of them who dare to try some of the double chocolate chip muffin that they bought (which yes, does includes Patrick, who perhaps Jonny thought would on his side about total body nutrition except Patrick is so totally not).

“Alright, time to head to the gym,” Jonny says, pushing himself up off the carpet awhile after they’ve finished eating and had a chance to digest a little.

“What?” Patrick asks, because like, that is what a crazy person says. “You’re going to the gym now?”

“Should’ve gone earlier,” Jonny replies, looking down and furrowing his brow like he’s seriously disappointed in himself. “Normally I’m finished by seven.”

“Seven?!” Patrick exclaims. Jonny has definitely started speaking this obscure Canadian language where people get up early and exercise like, in the summer.

“You have no idea,” Jake says, even as Jonny has stood up and started stretching his arms. His shirt definitely does not lift up in any way, and Patrick is definitely not staring at the skin that it reveals.

“I’m surprised that he hasn’t started doing push-ups in the hallway.”

Some of them laugh but Jonny just ignores them (probably because it’s true and he was contemplating doing push-ups). “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I’ll join,” Jake says. “You guys saving our place in line?” A bunch of the guys nod so they leave. The girls decide to run back upstairs to get fixed up before meeting any of the players, so it leaves Halls, Mac, and Dan sitting there with Patrick.

“Is he like, being serious?” Patrick asks, watching as Jonny and Jake disappear around the corner. He does not for a second wonder what Jonny wears when he exercises, or what he looks like when his body is all red and covered in sweat.

Mac and Halls laugh. “Jonny is always serious,” Mac replies. Patrick looks over at Dan, who’s reclined all stretched out, leaning up on one of his arms (definitely both a fire and walking hazard).

“You have no idea,” Dan says, shifting so that he’s sitting up. “Jonny is serious about everything. I’ve known Jonny since I was three or four years old, when we first played on a hockey team together. That’s a kid who used to be up at four o’clock in the morning, every single day, playing hockey. Even on Christmas.” Mac and Halls nod. “His family had one of those backyard rinks, you know? Like, his dad made it when he was little, when Jonny was really young and started to show some talent, early.”

It feels so intimate, almost too intimate, to learn so much about Jonny from some of the people that know him best, have known him the longest.

Dan laughs then, like an afterthought. “That’s why he’s NHL bound and the rest of us are on college club leagues, trying to get business degrees.”

“Yo, I’m points leader on that fucking club team,” Halls says back, and the conversation devolves from there. Patrick pulls out his phone to send off a text to his mom and Erica that he’s already waiting in line, in a pretty good spot too, so that he should be right up against center aisle.

Jonny and Jake come back just over an hour later. They’re both wearing Blackhawks jerseys, which Patrick is just a little disappointed by, since (as much as he loves hockey jerseys), it definitely doesn’t show off Jonny’s arms the way his t-shirt did.

Jonny kicks Mac out of the spot he’d assumed against the wall next to Patrick. Patrick does not read into it at all, since it’s probably more like Jonny’s concerned about what not having the wall to lean against would do for his posture (or something like that – it seems like something Jonny would be genuinely concerned about).

It’s a fun morning. No offense to Patrick’s dad, who is the best, but it’s entirely different to be here with a group of people his age. They play cards for a bit, and eventually they get moved into one of the ballrooms where they actually get to sit in chairs because the line is starting to stretch into the main lobby and “disrupt regular business operations”, and is definitely making them all sorts of hazards. It gets more difficult from there, especially since Patrick was so strategic about the outlet situation, and needless to say Jonny’s phone is about to die by one o’clock, so he and Patrick have the rest of the group save their seats and move over to the wall so he can charge it. Jonny brought a book, which Patrick refuses to let him read, like – again, it’s summer, and they are at the Blackhawks convention, about to be in the presence of hockey greatness, reading is definitely not allowed.

Eventually Jonny gives in to playing tic-tac-toe on Patrick’s arm, after a way too detailed conversation about ink poisoning which Patrick is definitely questioning. Like, maybe Jonny and Patrick’s mom subscribe to the same magazines or something, because even though Jonny doesn’t mention ink seeping through his skin as something that would stunt growth, Patrick feels like it definitely belonged in some part of his argument.

Needless to say, stunting his growth might be worth it, because Jonny spends a lot of time after that conversation ends and he eventually gives in because he doesn’t want to write all over the book he brought with him holding Patrick’s arm in both hands and staring way too intensely at it, like there’s a way to win at tic-tac-toe when you don’t go first (there definitely isn’t). He has a tight grip on Patrick’s arm that Patrick is pretty into, and his gaze is piercing into Patrick’s skin like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Between both of their phones and Patrick’s iPod it takes them almost two hours to get them back up to full charge. They’re trying not to be greedy, and Patrick has definitely noticed that there are other people staring enviously at the outlet they’ve basically claimed, so as soon as his phone hits 100% he unplugs it and they head back towards their group.

“Were you guys making out over there?” Jake asks, and gets immediately elbowed in the stomach by Mac. Patrick almost stops from where he’s currently headed back towards his seat (next to Jonny’s).

“Grow up,” Jonny says, immediately and definitively, seeming like he isn’t bothered by the comment at all, and Patrick hadn’t come back with a decent comeback yet anyway, so he just books it the rest of the way back to his seat and sits down.

Patrick has no idea what Jonny’s friends are talking about, right now it all just feels like noise passing through him, but he doesn’t think they’re still talking about him and Jonny making out. He pulls out his phone so that it seems like maybe he’s doing something, even though he just texts off some update to his mom and Erica that he’s still hanging out in the opening ceremony line. Erica thinks that Mac is super-hot, because part of his face was accidentally in the picture that Patrick sent them of the room they’ve been confined to and she wants to know how old he is, while his mom is so happy that he met a group of people his own age to hang out with, as long as they aren’t drug-engaging delinquents (he tells her they’re not, which he thinks is mostly the truth).

Patrick has reached that age where he’s comfortable admitting to himself that he finds guys equally if not sometimes more attractive than girls. And it’s something that he’s been comfortably able to admit to a very, very select few people over the years. And there’s a lot of gay jokes around the locker room, hurled at him across the ice because of his curls and his height and his face, and he’s always been able to handle them, because he’s used to it, seriously, and because he knows that the people who pass comments don’t know anything about him. But he’s always wondered if people can just like, tell, maybe just by looking at him. He’s hooked up with a couple girls, and a made out with a few guys too, and it’s definitely not his fault that his heart keeps doing weird shit around Jonny, really, that makes it all Jonny’s fault bringing this shit out of him totally uncalled for when he’s just innocently here trying to get an autograph out of Patrick Sharp – because he’s good, not because he’s like, attractive or anything like that.

It’s a minute or too before Patrick looks up again, and of fucking course, Jonny’s looking at him. He’s got this deep look on his face, like he’s studying Patrick (again), and Patrick doesn’t know what to say.

“Are you okay?” Jonny asks.

Patrick tries to hold his gaze, let the breath that he’s been holding in his chest leave his lungs. “Yeah,” he replies. He tries to smile, even though every part of him feels like it’s forced. “All good.”

**********

It’s three o’clock, his torso is pressed against the center aisle, and Jonny’s dick is pressed against his side.

  
They’ve been standing like that for just under half an hour. They’d been moved into the grand ballroom around two, with just two hours to stand until the official start of the opening ceremony. Patrick and Jonny and all Jonny’s friends had gotten right up against the stage, and they’d been chilling like that for awhile before Jonny felt bad that some woman with a little boy was right behind him, and insisted that the little boy stand in front of him instead. The woman had been so grateful, and the little boy had been so happy, so Jonny had shifted over just a bit, but that bit put him just a little into Patrick’s side, and although Patrick is totally a decent height for someone his age, Jonny is definitely taller, and the more people who crowd into the ballroom, the closer they get pressed together, and that’s definitely Jonny’s dick pressed against his hip bone.  
  
Patrick has never meditated or any of that shit, but he’s beginning to think it would be a worthwhile skill to have picked up so that he had just a bit more control over what his body is currently doing in response to the proximity of Jonny and Jonny’s junk.  
  
Thankfully Mac and Halls are standing to his right, and they’re pretty funny and easy-going guys, so he tries to distract and immerse himself in their conversation and pretend this dick situation does not exist. It feels like they’re guys off his hockey team, just hanging out and having fun, not thinking in the back of their heads about their height or their weight or their point production from last season, just having fun with their friends at the Blackhawks convention. They’re people who love hockey (almost) as much as he and Jonny do, that they would devote their time and spend so many hours standing in line just to high-five guys who play for a team that hasn’t won a Stanley Cup in decades.  
  
Once it gets closer to the start of the opening ceremony, videos start playing on the screen that’s set up on the stage in the front of the room. Most of it is recaps of last season which, admittedly, aren’t too good, even there are some exciting moments, and as soon as the room goes black Patrick can just feel the intensity growing inside of him. Sometimes Mac elbows him when’s there a sweet goal by Bourque or a nice save by Keith, and there’s a few times when Patrick looks over his shoulder and sees Jonny, the light of the video reflecting off his cheeks, and he’s not sure if it’s him or the atmosphere that feels like his heart has stalled in his chest; once they make eye contact and Patrick isn’t sure how he stops himself from standing up just a little taller so Patrick can kiss him.  
  
Before he knows it the seventeen hours of sitting and standing in line are gone, forgotten in an instant as Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita, coaches and administration alike, members of the hockey hall of fame walk right in front of him, and he isn’t even high but everything feels like his entire life has led up to this moment, like it’s too big for him to properly process, that the best hockey players are passing by in front of him, and Jonathan Toews is pressed against his side.

 

He’s thankful for at least the distraction of the hockey alumni, which has admittedly done wonders for his ever-present and increasingly painful boner. The cheers get even louder when the current team walks in, all the rookies and the players dressed in suit pants and their jerseys, their hands out for high fives as they walk down the center aisle. Aucoin is the last one in, and he gives a speech that’s borderline at best, but it stills gets everyone cheering even louder, pumped that maybe the next one really is going to be a big one for them, and by the time the team has passed back through and Patrick’s gotten his second group of high-fives, he’s more than ready to move.

 

There were a few people with Blackhawks’ polos that had been walking around since nine o’clock in the morning with convention booklets with all the information about when and where to be to get autographs and to take pictures. The convention is spread throughout the hotel, different offerings going on in its various levels and ballrooms, so Patrick has always tried to be strategic about where to be and when. Halls is gifted with the VIP pass from booking a room at the Hilton, meaning he’s guaranteed to meet one of the best of the best, so he heads up by himself to where the line for that signing is going to start. Patrick already has it set for Martin Lapointe, a fellow right wringer and Stanley Cup winner, and Dan is in agreement, but Jonny and a few others have it booked to Tyler Arnason. There’s a Second City improv show at eight, and while some people sound okay missing it Patrick definitely isn’t, and Jonny and a few others agree, so they all split up and agree to meet back at the rear left side of the grand ballroom once they’re done.

 

Patrick heads out with Allison and Dan, who Patrick learns is a fellow right wringer and also Canadian, so he’s really into meeting Lapointe. They’re at the back of the line but they still manage to get bracelets for an autograph, so they sit and wait until he arrives, cheer when he does, and then slowly trudge their way through the entirety of the line. They get shifted around a lot, since the line is so long, but they all maneuver it together. Dan brought a huge poster of the Blackhawks logo he’s planning on framing after getting signed, and Allison has a baseball cap that’s already partially covered in signatures. Patrick just brought one of his jerseys, a Bobby Hull that he’s had signed for years and years and years in a row because he’s a winger, and how could he not have a jersey of one of the best wingers to ever play the game? Dan and Allison are Canadian fans just like Jonny is, talking about the legacy of the Montreal Canadians even when Patrick rolls his eyes, but they respond to most of his arguments a lot better than Jonny did when Patrick brought them up.

 

Dan takes a picture on his phone and vice versa when they finally get to the front. Patrick asks to shake Lapointe’s hand and they do, which is something Patrick’s dad taught him years ago. It was probably cuter when Patrick was younger, but all the guys still agree when he asks, and sometimes it still gives Patrick chills to think that his hand is pressed up against some of the best hands in hockey history.

 

By the time they’re done they run upstairs and meet the others in the back of the ballroom. Crystal and Jen have gone ahead and saved them enough seats to accommodate nine people, so as soon as they all meet up they go and sit down. Patrick ends up next to Jonny, which is absolutely a miracle of fate and not to any of his own doing. Patrick asks how his own autograph session went, and he feels like Jonny’s face lights up when it takes about how rewarding it is to meet a center who used to play in Canada but has done decent his last season in Chicago.

 

The Second City show has a lot of jokes about the not so spectacular last season and a lot of jokes about the threat of another lockout, and a bunch of the retired players come out to help with the different sketches they have every year. Patrick always enjoys the comedy show, even though he can imagine the players probably hate having to participate in something like this. He’s amazed that it actually makes Jonny laugh a few times, even when they’re mocking something as sacred as hockey.  
  
“Hungry?” Jonny asks, looking over at him when the lights have finally come back on after the show ends just over an hour later.  
  
Patrick has been so distracted by hockey royalty and Jonny’s new existence in his life he hasn’t even been paying attention to his stomach at all, but then he realizes he hasn’t had anything to eat since his delicious but bacon-less breakfast sandwich twelve hours ago.  
  
“Starving.”  
  
**********  
  
They wait over an hour for a table at Lou Malnati’s. Patrick is amazed he hasn’t completely crashed yet, but Jonny and all his friends are so entertaining the time passes quicker than he might have expected. Halls and Jen had gone downstairs to one of the interactive ballrooms where Jen learned she was a right-handed shot, and Jake and Crystal had went with Jonny. Mac had gone by himself to wait on a line to meet Jack O’Callaghan, who Patrick had managed to meet two years ago or he would’ve considered waiting in line to meet him himself. There are miracles and then there are miracles on ice, and he knows where his respect in hockey is due.  
  
The Lou Malnati’s is crowded but the restaurant manages to smoosh them all together in two connected tables. Patrick ends up crammed in a corner while Jonny gets the end seat at the table because he’s taller than everyone else. They order way too many pizzas between them, but most of the guys eat half a pie a piece, even Jonny, who gets overruled by the majority and only gets to order one vegetable deep dish, which is his admittedly lame attempt to try to make the meal healthier.  
It’s after eleven by the time they finish eating. Patrick didn’t trust his fake ID enough to test it out in an actual restaurant, so (with permission) Patrick has been stealing sips of Mac’s beer all night. He keeps sneaking peaks at Jonny to see if he’s going to give him shit for underage drinking, but he genuinely doesn’t seem to notice, too distracted about a conversation about how well the last draft class had done as rookies, so Patrick feels amazing, full and satisfied with just a hint of a buzz once he steps back outside into the cooler, quieter, Chicago air.  
“Walk up to the Walgreen’s and get some drinks?” Jake asks, and they all head down Michigan Avenue together.</p>  
  
They end up debating the hilarity of the improv show. Patrick’s a fan, always has been, since he understands a lot of the players probably think they’re too cool to try to be funny up on stage for a few minutes. Jonny seems to think it’s like, the team’s moral obligation to do the show, and is disappointed that more of the bigger name players didn’t come out to participate.  
They pass a lot of interesting people on the few blocks between the hotel and the Walgreen’s. A few guys are playing guitar (questionably well) and a couple of people are giving very passionate speeches about climate change and religion, and the Walgreens seems way too bright for this hour when they finally get inside.  
Patrick’s been trying to manage his money pretty responsibly, and he thinks they split the bill for dinner pretty fairly given the amount of alcohol that he was able to sneak from Mac, but he makes sure he gives Jake some extra money when he starts pulling Four Loko’s out of the refrigerator section and goes to find where Jonny wandered off to instead. He eventually comes across him in the magazine section, where his head is bent so deep into a magazine he’s surprised his neck hasn’t snapped in half. There’s a second where Patrick is walking towards him and pretty sure he’s reading a magazine about the economy, but instead he’s got his faced shoved into (of course) one about the national hockey league.  
“Is that about the draft?” Patrick asks, suddenly realizing what Jonny is probably reading about.  
Jonny practically jumps when he realizes that Patrick is standing next to him. Not close enough to be reading over his shoulder (which Patrick couldn’t arguably see over anyway but, whatever), but close enough that he can glance at the magazines on the rack and see the cover and the title about the draft preview.  
“Yeah,” Jonny responds, once the magazine is already closed and shoved behind another magazine about women’s housekeeping.  
“Are you in it?” Patrick asks, even though he knows the answer.  
“Yeah,” Jonny replies eventually, his gaze focused down on the off-colored tile that’s covering the floor underneath them.  
Patrick has just enough time to wonder what it says before Halls wanders over to ask if Jonny’s picking out a copy of Maxim, in which case Jonny starts trying to put him in a headlock, so Patrick ends up slipping away back toward the register.  
They all meet up outside the revolving doors with way more alcohol than Patrick thinks their horrible IDs should have allowed for.  
“Who gets the beds?” Halls asks, and there’s a collective groan before they start down the street towards the Hilton.  
**********  
“Do you work out?”  
  
They’re stopped at a light. Most of the group had been able to cross the street ahead of it changing, but Patrick had (admittedly) gotten sucked in by an entire band playing music on the sidewalk and had paused for maybe five seconds, tops, before Jonny had pulled him away by the elbow when he started dancing.  
  
“Uh, yeah?” Patrick asks, glancing over to see what Jonny’s face is doing.  
  
Jonny has a (so gorgeous) very expressive face, Patrick has learned in the twenty-two hours they’ve known each other (youth league hockey careers notwithstanding). Jonny isn’t looking at him when he asks, but is staring super intensely at the traffic light, like he’s willing it to turn red with the force of his own will.  
  
“Do you like, want to?” Jonny asks. The light switches before Patrick can answer, so as he’s crossing the street he’s left trying to figure out if Jonny’s asking if Patrick wants to bang or if he’s asking if Patrick wants to go bang and get another classic deep-dish pizza – both of which would receive a resounding yes from Patrick.  
  
“Want to what?” Patrick asks. Some of the guys are beginning to turn around and have realized they’re so far behind, therefore a bunch of guys are (loudly) wondering if all the pizza has made Jonny slow, therefore Jonny is speeding up tremendously as if he’s trying to prove just how fast he is, even when it’s this close to midnight and they’ve all been awake for like, twenty hours.  
  
“Go the gym tomorrow,” Jonny responds as if this was the totally obvious response which Patrick was totally prepared for since it does not involve their dicks or pizza.  
  
“Sure? I mean, I didn’t really bring work out clothes. And like, I can’t really shower, either, so I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.”  
  
Jonny stops then, literally in the middle of a sidewalk that has a bunch of suspicious looking people on it. Patrick’s not sure if Jonny’s height makes him inclined to be a lot less aware of his surroundings or not, but this is definitely not where Patrick would have stopped.  
  
“Why not?” Jonny asks, like he honestly doesn’t understand any part of Patrick’s argument here.  
  
“Uh, dude,” Patrick responds, shoving Jonny a little in the arm just enough to get him moving again. All of their group seems to have stopped once they realized that he and Jonny were so far behind, and Patrick honestly just wants to be able to catch up with them. “I don’t have a hotel room. So like, I can’t shower. I also don’t have clothes to work out in. And like, a room key to get into the gym or whatever.” Patrick honestly has never tried to get into the gym at the Hilton, so he’s not sure how the entire process works.  
  
Jonny stops again, which is super disappointing, because if Patrick ends up getting mugged this trip he’s going to tell his mom all about Jonny and blame it on him one hundred percent, because he would’ve been a hell of a lot better about keeping up with the very large group of people that they are hanging out with than Jonny currently is.  
  
He seems to realize it without Patrick causing him any physical pain and keeps walking. “I have a key to the gym; it’s the room key. And I’m sure one of the guys can lend you shorts or something. And obviously you can use our shower; you’re staying with us.”  
  
It’s Patrick’s turn to stop then, and his mouth drops open as if he didn’t understand a word that Jonny just said.  
  
“What?” he asks. Apparently he’s in the middle of the road and it’s a green light, because immediately a car starts honking at him, and Jonny looks pained when he has to walk back into the road to grab Patrick by the sleeve and drag him the rest of the way to the sidewalk.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Patrick asks again, because he’s too surprised to say anything else.  
  
Jonny just keeps staring at him, studying his face again. It’s a few long moments before Jonny finally looks away and stares down at the sidewalk instead. “What, about staying with us? You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But we have the space, if you want to be able to relax somewhere for a bit. You’re getting along with everyone, they’re all fine with having you there.” Jonny looks up at Patrick and then looks away again, quickly. “Plus, there’s already eight of us in one room with two beds. Nine won’t make much of a difference.”  
  
Patrick can’t help but wonder if there was a part of the evening where Jonny asked all eight other people in his group if it was okay for him to invite a seemingly awesome but admittedly total stranger into their room that he completely missed out on.  
  
“It’s not a big deal,” Jonny says, when Patrick still doesn’t say anything. “You don’t have to like, pay or anything. You’re just welcome, if you want to.”  
  
Eventually, finally, Jonny looks back up at him. Patrick wonders if he could manage the leverage to successfully make out with his face without Jonny leaning down at all.  
  
“Yeah, that’d be great.” It takes Patrick’s mouth forever to form the words, but once they’re out, Jonny smiles, and then they really have to run to catch up with everyone else.  
  
**********  
  
When they get back to the hotel, they stagger their entrance. Four of them go straight into the hotel and show the room keys, as a bunch of them (Patrick included) go around the side and take the emergency exit staircase to the third floor, where they cut across the landing and meet the rest of the group in the elevator. None of them seems to care that Patrick is there, girls included, and Patrick sends off a text to his mom that’s he in the hotel and he’s going to sleep, which really isn’t a lie when he thinks about it.  
  
Some of the guys shower when they get back up to the room. It’s on the twenty-first floor, and it’s a huge room like he and his dad shared one year, with a view looking out onto Lake Michigan. There’s two beds and a cot, which Mac had apparently called the front desk to request earlier in the day, and only four suitcases, which Patrick finds out is because everyone packs as if they’re sharing one suitcase, so it doesn’t look suspicious that there are supposedly only four people in the room but a shit ton of luggage. Most of the guys change like they’re in a locker room, diligently not looking at each other while the girls change in the bathroom, and Patrick didn’t bring too many clothes, so he just switches into the pair of sweatpants that he wore on the bus last night and was planning to wear home on Sunday.  
  
They end up watching the movie Dodgeball and playing a drinking game. They brought some shitty beers and cheap drinks at the Walgreens, but someone brought a bottle of vodka from home so they end up mixing some of the vodka with some of the soda that they bought and sharing it between them. There’s a very short game of flip cup for the beds, which Dan and Halls win, but Patrick doesn’t even think of participating, and Jonny doesn’t bother either.  
  
Patrick has had a bit to drink when he finally asks Mac if he has a pair of shorts he can borrow. Mac, who has admittedly had a lot more to drink than he has, doesn’t even think twice, just points his chin in the direction of one of the bags. The shorts he finds look at least a size or two too big, but they have a tie on the waistband that Patrick is (assuming) will be good enough to prevent them from falling down on him. Jonny has been sitting on the floor leaning against the end of one of the beds, watching Dodgeball like it’s his first time seeing it. Which, Patrick realizes, maybe it is, even though it’s probably the fiftieth time Patrick has seen it. He’s pretty sure all of his sister’s have seen it too, or at least Erica, who has definitely quoted some of the lines back to him.  
  
It might be the vodka, but Patrick is super aware of how close he’s sitting to Jonny when he joins him at the foot of the bed. Jonny pries his eyes away from the television just long enough to smile at him, like maybe he forgot Patrick was there but oh, here he is, and Patrick is trying to calculate how gracefully he can straddle Jonny’s lap with how off he’s guessing his coordination is right now. Jonny himself is holding one of the glasses that’s definitely twenty percent soda and eighty percent vodka, but when he takes a sip it looks like he’s actually enjoying it, so Patrick doesn’t say anything.  
  
Eventually someone turns the light out but leaves the tv on. Patrick just stretches out on the floor, using his sweatshirt as a pillow again. He’s aware that Jonny drifted off a short time ago, somewhere close by him, before they even got to the end of the movie. But no one said anything when they realized that Jonny was passed out horizontally on the carpet instead of in one of the sleeping bags, and Patrick definitely wasn’t going to be the one to wake him up, so he fluffs his sweatshirts and shuts his eyes, even as the noise continues on around him.  
  
**********  
  
Patrick is admittedly stuck somewhere along the line of being totally in love with Jonny, but there’s some definite points against him when his alarm goes off at 4:30 in the morning and he has to shut if off immediately before waking all eight other people in the room.  
  
No one even moves, except for Jonny, who’s apparently already awake and dressed. Unfortunately it was Patrick that eventually agreed to the 4:30 wake up time, because he feels like he has to be on the autograph lines by six latest, so at least getting up that early would give him enough time to get up and get in a work out with enough time to shower and get downstairs without jeopardizing his priorities.  
  
Plus, it was admittedly super difficult to argue with Jonny, who kept on realistically estimating how much time it would take them to do everything from a warm up mile to riding in the elevator, so when they finally agreed on 4:30 instead of an earlier and even more ungodly hour, Patrick was not going to argue.  
  
Patrick picks himself up and is super careful about stepping around all the people on the floor to make it to the bathroom. Patrick can see Jonny’s face where it’s illuminated in the corner by his iPod, so Patrick just brushes his teeth and slips on the shorts he borrowed off Mac and a t-shirt before heading over to meet him.  
  
Patrick stops close enough to Jonny that their bodies are touching, because he’s not sure how else to communicate to Jonny that he’s ready to go without saying something and waking everyone up, so as soon as Patrick’s chin touches Jonny’s shoulder his iPod is off and the door is open, and they venture into the eerily silent hallway.  
  
When they get to the gym it’s welcomingly empty, which is how Patrick would prefer it. It’s nice though, with weights and treadmills and bikes – everything he normally uses when he goes to the gym (begrudgingly). He lets Jonny set the routine, with them starting out on the treadmill for a few minutes to get their heart rates up and then switching to the weights, where they take turns spotting each other.  
  
Jonny can lift a hell of a lot more than he can, which Patrick tries very carefully to not be jealous about, because he did allow himself to be jealous of that once, and he ended up with a torn muscle in his arm and close to three months recovery time. He tells himself that Jonny is older and taller which are all (sadly) true things, and Jonny doesn’t say anything when Patrick lifts less than he does.  
Patrick will never admit to Jonny that he feels good when they finally finish, or what Jonny’s satisfied and sweaty smile does to him once they’ve finished their cool down on the bikes. It’s just after 5:30, and Patrick is almost worried he feels so awake, but he also feels disgusting since it’s been almost two days since he last showered.  
  
There are showers in the gym’s locker room, and they both settle on that instead of going back to the room and chancing waking anyone up. It didn’t sound like anyone planned on getting up as early as they were, so they shower together, Patrick thankfully trained after years of showering with other guys to not look anywhere in Jonny’s direction no matter how much he wants to, even as he’s soaping himself up and Jonny’s voice is going on and on about penalty kills and the importance of core strength.  
  
Patrick brought his backpack to the gym with him, so as soon as he’s dressed he pulls the convention program out of his backpack. He and Jonny peer over it for a few seconds, discussing which autograph lines are most worth the wait time.  
  
“Jim Dowd,” Jonny says. They’re sitting almost shoulder to shoulder on one of the benches in the locker room.  
  
“No way, man,” Patrick replies. “He’s only played for Chicago for a season, and I doubt they’re going to sign him again for next season. Radim Vrbata, definitely.”  
  
There’s silence as they look over the other options. Patrick points out that if they get on an 8:30 bracelet line, they can hope to get on a 10:00 one too, and he’d love to get a Dennis Savard wristband.  
  
“I guess we’ll split up,” Patrick says, when he looks at his phone and realizes it’s already a few minutes after six o’clock and he’s still sitting in the locker room.  
  
There’s no response, so eventually he looks at Jonny, whose facial expression reflects the one he made when Patrick tried and failed to sneak a bite of that muffin yesterday.  
  
“You think we should split up?” Jonny asks, his eyes still trained on the program.

 

“Part of the game,” Patrick says, folding it up and cramming it back into his backpack. By the time he looks back at Jonny, he looks like Patrick would imagine he does when he’s about to play hockey.  
  
“Right,” Jonny says, nodding his head and standing up. “Part of the game.”  
  
**********  
  
It’s one of Patrick’s most awkward good-byes ever when he and Jonny inevitably separate. They take the elevator down to the main lobby together, and when the doors open there’s a ton more people mulling about than there were yesterday. Patrick’s line is down in the basement level, while Jonny’s is back up a floor outside one of the ballrooms.  
  
“Well,” Jonny starts, and then stops. They’ve stepped out of the elevators and the doors have already closed behind them.  
  
Patrick runs his fingers through the damp curls at the back of his neck. “We can try to meet in the Dennis Savard line. If not, I’ll probably head towards the Salon D to get gifts. Maybe Jen or Crystal can help me pick out shit that a girl would like.”  
  
“For your girlfriend?”  
  
Jonny asks it so quickly Patrick barely has time to register that’s what he said it. When he looks at Jonny, Jonny isn’t looking back at him, but he’s still standing there like he’s waiting for an answer.  
  
“No. Like, for my sisters.”  
  
Patrick glances away, back to where people are wandering down the stairs, knowing it’s getting later and the line is getting longer every second, so he doesn’t see when Jonny pulls his phone out, but when he looks back Jonny is holding it out in his direction.  
  
“Put your number in.”  
  
Patrick doesn’t say anything, just takes the phone and does. He hands it back to Jonny, who just slips it into his pocket without even looking at it.  
  
“I’ll text you,” Jonny says, not looking at him but turning in the direction of the staircase.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick says, and he watches Jonny until his shoes disappear upstairs, the skin on his ears burning and his heart pounding in his chest.  
  
**********  
  
Patrick’s pretty close to the front of the line for Vbrata’s wristband, so he knows he’s guaranteed to get one. Jake and Crystal and Jen show up about an hour or so later and join him, which no one else behind them seems to be bothered by, thankfully. As soon as they start giving out the wristbands Patrick heads back upstairs to get on the Savard line. He ends up pretty far back on that one but he sits down anyway, and he’s just texting back his mom about what players he’s met so far when a notification for an unknown number pops up on his screen.  
  
_Hey Patrick, it’s Jonny. Are you in line for Savard?_  
  
Patrick wishes that he were surprised at all that Jonny texts with perfect grammar, spelling, and punctuation, but he’s definitely not.  
  
_yea.. halfway down the hall across from normandie_  
  
Mac and Halls show up before Jonny does, so they’re all sitting down in line when he arrives.  
  
“You okay?” Jonny asks, sitting down next to him. This line isn’t against the wall, so Patrick’s just hunched over on his knees, and after the unexpected 4:30 A.M. workout it’s really starting to destroy something in his upper back that he definitely hasn’t used since the end of the hockey season.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick responds, even as he stretches to try to get his back to crack, thinking maybe that will help. “Just a little sore from this morning. Been out of the weight game since the season ended.”  
  
“What wristbands did you get?” Jonny asks instead, looking at the green ones that Mac and Halls are both wearing.  
  
“Brent Seabrook,” Halls replies. Patrick nods, because he’s got respect there, thinks he could have a good career ahead of him in Chicago.  
  
Mac and Halls start up a debate about whether Brent Seabrook or Duncan Keith is the better defenseman when Patrick feels a pair of hands on his upper back. He tries to look over his shoulder and sees Jonny there, his hands pressing into the knots on either side of his spine.  
  
“Relax,” Jonny says, not like a command but gently, and maybe Patrick should say something about it being weird for one guy to be giving another guy a massage like, especially in public, but he can’t lie that it feels really fucking good, and Mac and Halls can’t seem to care less, so Patrick will appreciate the gesture while he tries not to pop a boner.  
  
The massage doesn’t last longer than a few minutes, and Patrick tries really hard to not make any sound, but Jonny’s hands feel so fucking good, applying pressure to all the right places, and he is definitely not thinking about what it would be like to have Jonny’s hands on him without any clothes on. Which is like, definitely not helping the no-boner situation he’s already fighting here, so he tries to stop thinking about that and pretend he’s really invested in how many goals Seabrook scored last season and his on-ice minutes per game.  
  
Jonny’s hands are slow and methodical, and with his attention to fitness and everything else Patrick can just imagine he’s probably looked up on the Internet or read in a book somewhere how to give the best massages ever. He spends most of the time working on his upper back, but his hands steadily get lower until they’re focusing on his external obliques (which like, Patrick paid some attention in school, back when he used to actually go to one, enough that he remembers some small points about anatomy).  
  
“Thanks,” Patrick says when Jonny finally finishes, and Jonny just nods before launching into a debate about who the current best defenseman in the league is, acting like giving Patrick a massage was no big deal at all, so Patrick is guessing that means it wasn’t.  
  
By the grace of the hockey gods they’re all able to get Savard wristbands, so Patrick heads back downstairs and meets Jake, Jen, and Crystal in line to trade in their blue wristbands and get in line for the Vrbata autograph. It sounds like they’d spent a good portion of their morning in the stores, so Patrick is able to get a good rundown of what booths are worth stopping by.  
  
Vrbata is a nice guy, signs his jersey and shakes his hand and even pauses for a moment to let Jake take a picture of him and Patrick together before Patrick takes his jersey and runs upstairs to get back in the Savard line. He doesn’t see Jonny or Mac or Halls, and he considers waiting for them, but the line has already started moving by the time he gets there, so he trades in his wristband and joins everyone else in line.  
  
He ends up talking to a man who’s there with his eight-year-old son. It’s their first year at the convention, and they’re just trying to figure out what they should be doing and when. Patrick can’t even imagine how overwhelming the entire thing must feel the first time you come (that’s what she said – Patrick can’t help himself). At this point, Patrick’s knows the entire weekend involves strategic planning and time management in order to get the most out of it, but the little boy is just going on and on about how excited he is to meet Dennis Savard, so at least he and his dad are happy even if they probably won’t be going home with a ton of autographs.  
  
Patrick takes a picture of the boy and his dad when they reach the front of the line and actually meet Dennis Savard, and they return the favor. Patrick immediately sends the picture off to his dad, because they’ve tried to get a Savard autograph in past years and haven’t been able to manage it. He’s waiting for the picture to finish sending when his phone vibrates in his hand and he opens a text from Jonny.  
  
In the grand ballroom for the panel. Saved you a seat if you want it.  
  
Patrick definitely does not smile to himself when he reads it, and he texts back a def before slipping his jersey it into his backpack and heading upstairs. He and Jonny had talked about going to the captains themed panel with Adrian Aucoin and Martin Lapointe, who’d been the interim captain this season while Aucoin had been injured. Patrick finds Jonny towards the front of the ballroom, and he slides his backpack off the seat when Patrick finally makes his way through the row to find him.  
  
After the captains’ panel there’s a coaching panel with Trent Yawney and Darryl Sutter both appearing, so they stay for that one too. They pass the time in between checking out what’s going on at the convention for the rest of the day. On Saturday the convention only goes to seven o’clock, so they take a look at who’s signing autographs in the afternoon.  
Jonny gets a text halfway through the panel from one of his friends.  
  
“Are you hungry?” he asks when the lights have gone on and the coaches and the moderators have finally left the stage.  
  
“Yes. Starving. Again,” Patrick replies, since it’s noon and he worked out at four in the morning and the last thing he put in his stomach was deep dish pizza over twelve hours ago.  
  
“Me too,” Jonny says as he stands pulls his backpack on his shoulder. “Let’s meet up with the guys.”  
  
**********  
  
They don’t want to take too much time away from being at the convention, so they all meet in the front lobby and head down the street. Patrick is practically blinded when he steps outside; he obviously knew it was daytime, but he’s been awake for so long and been inside for even longer that it takes his eyes more than a few minutes to adjust.  
  
They end up at the Cosi’s a few blocks down, because it’s quick and cheap and easy. They all order and manage to find a table that’s supposed to seat six and try to make it fit nine. Allison basically ends up on Dan’s lap, which neither of them really minds, and Patrick ends up in the booth next to Jonny. It’s a tight squeeze, so they end up pressed together from foot to knee to hip. He tries to shift away, just a little bit, to put a breath of air between them, but on the other side of Patrick is Mac, and he doesn’t feel like it’d be any better to be pressed up against him, so he stays where he’s pressed up against Jonny.  
  
Crystal and Jake end up doing food runs back and forth to the counter, since it’s too much of a pain to keep getting up and sitting back down with how all of them are seated. Jonny gets a salad which is definitely ridiculous, but he tells Patrick that he feels bad about all the pizza he had last night, except the look on Jonny’s face tells him he actually does feel bad, like maybe Jonny failed his body by eating that many carbs at one time. So Patrick doesn’t make fun of him, even though some of the other guys do.  
  
Patrick gets a roast beef sandwich that is amazing, and totally fills all the empty space in his stomach. Mac is telling some probably made up story about challenging Tommy Hawk to a shot competition in the interactive ballroom that is still hilarious even though Patrick suspects it may be lacking a little accuracy. It feels weird to Patrick to think that he didn’t know any of these guys two days ago. Except for Jonny, he guesses. Even though they definitely weren’t friends when they played on the Junior Flyers together, he guesses it still counts that they knew each other.  
  
Jonny keeps talking to him, more so than any of his other friends sitting nearby, and he knocks their knees together occasionally under the table, which may be the total lack of space or may be Jonny trying to find an excuse to touch him. Probably the first one.  
  
And Patrick totally blames his sisters for all the J-14 and M magazines they make him read with them that tries to tell you how to know if your crush at school likes you back. Which like, Jonny is not Patrick’s crush. They’re not even at school. But Jonny is kind of awesome in a way where he’s definitely not as cool as Patrick, and he’s also (objectively) ridiculously attractive, and he’s got this lame sense of humor that still finds a way to make Patrick laugh, and maybe Patrick’s heart lights up when Jonny smiles at him or some dumb shit like that. Whatever. It’s not a crush. It’s just his hormones, and the failings of the universe that cause his skin to heat and his heart to race just by being in Jonny’s presence. He’s not even taking the ever-present boner situation into consideration.  
  
They try to come up with a game plan for the rest of the afternoon. Patrick’s plan is to go back and get on a wristband line before heading to the shops to get some merch. He also wants to walk through the silent auction, just to see what cool shit they’re selling and how much people are bidding on it. Crystal and Mac agree with that plan, so as soon as they’re done eating they head back to the Hilton.  
  
“I’ll see you,” Jonny says when they separate inside the main lobby. There’s a ton of people everywhere; sitting on stairs and standing in hallways, almost everyone dressed in Blackhawks’ jerseys, and it’s weird to think of what the Hilton looked like at midnight the day before – so empty and so quiet and so still. “Text me if you’re free.” Jonny himself heads upstairs with Dan and Allison, and Patrick, Crystal, and Mac head downstairs to wait for wristbands to meet Mark Bell.  
  
After they get their wristbands they go into Salon D, which is the basement area where all the stores are. It actually helps having a girl there, because Crystal helps him pick out some cute shirts for his sisters, and she doesn’t even complain when Patrick and Mac go to the booth to meet the ice girls where Patrick gets a signed picture for his dad. And a picture of him with the ice girls. Just because they offered.  
  
Patrick normally brings enough money to buy himself at least one souvenir that’s not an autograph, and the three of them walk through the aisles together. Patrick buys a jersey cookie from Max  & Benny’s that has Lapointe’s number on it, and treats Jen and Mac to a Smore’s brownie that he knows from years past is delicious. Mac helps him pick out a baseball cap; Patrick honestly doesn’t own one for the Blackhawks, and he’d forgotten all of his baseball caps at home even though normally he’s wearing one during his free time. He didn’t get a chance to get his hair cut before he left for the convention, and his curls are more in control than they usually are, but his hair is definitely longer around the edges, so he buys one and jams it down on his head, hoping it’ll help flatten the top of his hair a little bit.  
  
Patrick texts Jonny once he’s gotten an autograph from Mark Bell and tells him that they’re all heading upstairs. The rest of the group is waiting for them when they arrive, and they head into the ballroom where they’re holding the silent auction.  
  
Patrick has really never has understood the setup, because half of the room is completely quiet and on the other side kids are measuring how fast their shot is and in the middle of the room there’s another group of people standing in line to meet Pierre Pilot.  
  
They do have some cool memorabilia this year. There’s a pair of Patrick’s Sharp skates, and a jersey that Craig Anderson wore in the home opener, and a pair of gloves from the last game that Niklas Hjalmarsson played in before the end of the season. Jake bids 150 dollars on a stick used by Anton Babchuk, but he signs his bid as ‘Mr. Buttlicker.’ Patrick can’t help but laugh, even though Jonny looks pretty murderous. He doesn’t grab the pen and cross it out though – probably because it would draw even more attention to it.  
  
There’s one more autograph Patrick is hoping to get – Curtis Brown, who had spent most of his career playing in Buffalo before getting traded to Chicago prior to the start of last season. Jonny says he’ll wait in line with him - some of the group is starting to tire out, and is thinking of going back upstairs to take a nap, since most of them have already been awake for almost twelve hours and it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon. Patrick is kind of jealous and would really like to give in to the idea, but the Blackhawks convention is only three days a year, and he didn’t take an eleven-hour bus ride from Buffalo to sleep in the hotel.  
  
He and Jonny head back over to the Normandie ballroom and sit down in line. They’re fortunate enough to be against a wall, so Patrick can stretch out his legs and rest his back. He and Jonny trade jerseys, looking over all the autographs they’ve each gotten in years past. Most of Jonny’s are from previous conventions too, so a lot of their signatures overlap. It’s weird, Patrick can’t help but think, that Jonny and his friends have been here every year, all the years that Patrick and his family or Patrick and his dad had been, waiting on lines and waking up at the crack of dawn, and they never met each other.  
  
Eventually they lapse into a comfortable silence that definitely gets too comfortable, because one second Patrick is picking at a lose thread in the sleeve of his jersey, and the next second he’s staring at the inside of his eyelids, suddenly unaware of where he is.  
  
It all comes back to him slowly, that he is Patrick Kane, and he is at the Blackhawks convention, and he is waiting in line for an autograph, and he fell asleep on his backpack, but when Patrick finally opens his eyes, he finds out that not all of those things are true.  
  
Yes, he is Patrick Kane. He is at the Blackhawks convention, and he is in line for an autograph. They’ve started giving out the wristbands, he can see at the front of the line, but he is not asleep on his backpack. He’s asleep on Jonny.  
  
He tries not to move as he gets a sense of his surroundings. He must’ve started slipping when he fell asleep, because his head is on Jonny’s shoulder and one of his hands is resting on Jonny’s thigh. Which, what the fuck, talk about being betrayed by your own body. He thought that his boner was bad, but his hand has definitely gone above and beyond to betray him. Which sucks, because he’s always thought his hands had been a gift from the hockey gods, but this is definitely a questionable move for them.  
  
“Shit, man,” Patrick says, pulling his hand off of Jonny’s leg and using it to help straighten himself up. Jonny is reading some book, and Patrick glances down at the pages, but he must still be half asleep because the words don’t look like they’re in English. “Sorry about that.”  
  
Jonny doesn’t even look up from his book, just turns a page. “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”  
  
He doesn’t say anything else, so Patrick spends the next few seconds just staring at the side of Jonny’s face like he must be crazy until Jonny actually glances up. “You can go back to sleep if you’re still tired. I know you’re probably not used to working out like that. Sorry if your back is still bothering you.”  
  
Thankfully Patrick is saved from coming up with a response because the guys giving out the wristbands finally get to them and everyone in the line starts standing.  
  
Jonny shoves his book in his backpack and stands too, and once they get their wristbands there’s another forty minutes before the autograph signing starts, so they take a walk to the café in the lobby so that Patrick can buy some coffee and not fall asleep on any more random shoulders. There’s a boy there wearing a Joe Sakic jersey, which Jonny compliments him on, and they get into a whole conversation about the enduring legacy of the Quebec Nordiques, which is admittedly a lot different than the current legacy of the Colorado Avalanche. This kid is also Canadian, and before Patrick realizes what’s going on, it hits him that this kid and Jonny are speaking in French to each other.  
  
Which, what the fuck, sounds so fucking hot when Jonny speaks it, but is also totally rude, because Patrick cannot speak French and he has no idea what is going on and what anybody’s saying.  
  
“What the hell?!” Patrick says once the kid has shaken their hands and headed off towards the elevators. Jonny looks over at him. “You can speak French?!”  
  
Jonny gets that confused look on his face again. “I’m Canadian,” Jonny replies, which Patrick will concede is technically an answer, but is also not like, a reason to speak French. He’s still just kind of in awe of the way Jonny’s mouth moved when he spoke, and it feels like his body heat has risen to over 100, and there is definitely at least half a boner in his jeans.  
  
Admittedly a lot of Patrick’s teammates speak French, including Sam, but absolutely none of them sound the way Jonny does when he speaks it.  
  
So Patrick does the sensible thing, which is to roll his eyes at Jonny before turning and heading back towards the stairs to wait in the autograph line.  
  
**********  
  
Once they’ve both gotten their autographs, they meet up with the rest of the group to watch the Second City improv show. They honestly seem just as exhausted as they were before, most of them having gotten an hour or two of sleep in, which is admittedly how Patrick normally feels when he passes out in the middle of the day. The show is similar to the first night, except they get some more of the rookies to come out. Mac has a water bottle that he brought downstairs with him that’s actually filled with vodka and not water, and Patrick laughs even more than he did the night before once he has a bit of a buzz going.  
  
When the lights go on in the Grand Ballroom at the end of the show, announcing the convention activities are over for the day, Patrick feels like he’s been awake for days. His blinks a few times until his eyes finally adjust to the light, and stretches his arms over his head as he stands.  
  
They all filter out into the insanely crowded hallway, so they find the closest stairway and decide to try to get to an elevator on one of the higher floors. They walk up to the sixth floor, and they’re alone, so they push the button for the elevator and wait.  
  
Patrick plops down on one of the couches, feeling exhausted even though he was just sitting for over an hour, and wishes he could sleep in a bed for a few hours. It hits him that he doesn’t have a bed or like, even his own hotel room, and that he’s pretty much just integrated himself into this group of people he didn’t even know existed two days ago. Patrick is not in any sense an insecure person, confident in everything from his awesome dance moves to his otherworldly hockey skills, but like, he’s not trying to take advantage of how nice everyone’s being. Maybe he should stay where he is.  
  
“Should I be coming?” Patrick asks, when he realizes they’re sitting on the couches where he’d been planning on sleeping.  
  
He blames the vodka, mostly.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Jonny asks, and Patrick is pretty sure it’s the tenth time that Jonny has looked so confused today. Like, he’s wondering if Jonny actually goes to any classes in college or if he just plays hockey, because Jonny seems to never understand what Patrick is talking about. Which is definitely Jonny’s fault, and not at all Patrick’s.  
  
“I mean, you guys are like, friends,” Patrick says. Fuck, he’s definitely blaming the vodka.  
  
“Yes?” Jonny acknowledges, not looking any less confused than he did a few seconds ago. “Are you just realizing that we’re all friends?”  
  
“I mean, I’m sorry,” Patrick replies, sinking back into the couch and letting out a deep breath. He finally makes eye contact with Jonny, who’s just staring at him but not saying anything. “I can chill here.” It’s a pretty comfortable couch, if he’s being honest. He’s had to sleep in much worse places than this before. “I’m not trying to like, intrude or whatever.”  
  
The elevator door finally beeps, and everyone stands. Including Jonny, but not including Patrick. Patrick looks up at him, and Jonny’s got an entirely different expression on his face. It’s not confused or disappointed, as far as Patrick can tell, it’s just…blank.  
  
“I thought we had this conversation last night,” Jonny says, finally, softly. Everyone else is starting to get in the elevator. “You don’t have to hang out with us, if you’d rather not. If you don’t want to. But you can. And like…” Jonny pauses for a moment. “I think you should.” He reaches out a hand toward Patrick, and it just hangs in the air between them.  
  
“I should?” Patrick asks. He reaches his hand out and grabs on to Jonny, who pulls him up so that Patrick is standing. Except Jonny maybe pulled a little harder than he thought he would, because they end up standing a lot closer than Patrick was expecting. He has to tilt his head back just to keep looking at Jonny’s face.  
  
“You should.”  
  
**********  
  
They change and then head out for dinner.  
  
Patrick’s honestly relieved for the chance to walk and sober up a bit. Jonny’s a little quieter than he’s been, but Mac and Jake definitely make up for it. Patrick still feels a little weird and a little raw, and he’s honestly not sure why.  
  
Patrick will admit that he’s felt shit for guys before. Felt it and followed it, even though he’s never gone farther than making out. And he seriously has to consult his sisters on this one day, because the way he feels for Jonny is totally different than any girl or any guy he’s had half a desire to bang before. And he’s gotten to that age where basically anyone that is into him and willing is good enough for him. He doesn’t know much about Jonny, other than the things they’ve shared in nighttime conversations and while standing on lines, so maybe he actually does know kind of a lot, because each sentence Jonny gives him makes Patrick feel even closer to him.  
  
They talk about going to Portillo’s but some people start complaining that it’s too far a walk; Patrick suggests a place just a few blocks away from the Hilton. It’s super casual but they make decent Chicago hot dogs and even better curly fries, so they end up heading in that direction instead.  
  
The restaurant is super small, so when they go inside there’s almost no place to sit. A few tables get up and leave while they’re waiting on line to order, so the girls separate to claim them. They end up spread out all over the restaurant, even after the staff starts serving up their order.  
  
Patrick sits down at a table for two that’s opened up behind the table of four that Jen’s occupied, and Patrick looks up when Jonny bypasses his friends to sit down across from him.  
Jonny eats facing him, not even looking back at his friends for most of their meal. He insisted on not ordering his own fries and then ends up eating half of Patrick’s, who pretends he doesn’t really notice because he thinks Jonny would feel super disappointed in himself if Patrick called him out on it. Eventually Jonny does turn so that his back is against the wall and so that he can get involved in the conversation that his friends are having behind him about Jagr’s mullet, and when he’s repositioned himself they’re legs end up pressed together. Patrick doesn’t move away, and either does Jonny.  
  
“Hey, Pat, you could probably have a pretty killer mullet. Ever think about it?” Halls asks.  
  
“With those curls?!” Jake asks, and Patrick is immediately glad that he hasn’t taken his hat off (since his mom’s not there to yell at him). He’s gotten a lot of shit for his curls before, which is part of the reason why he’s happy he plays a sport that has a helmet. When he was younger he’d kept his curls mostly shaved, back when it was easy for his mom or his dad to bring him a few miles down the road for a haircut, but now that he hasn’t lived home in years it’s harder to get one, feels bad asking his bullet parents to take him when they have other kids to worry about, so his hair has gotten progressively longer.  
  
“I try to keep it short during the season,” Patrick says, self-consciously touching the curls that are creeping out the bottom of his hat.  
  
Jonny shrugs, and doesn’t even make eye contact with him. “I like your hair,” he says, even when Patrick isn’t sure he’s hearing Jonny right, because if Jonny is actually expressing a positive opinion about his hair he’s probably the first person in Patrick’s life who’s ever done so.  
  
Patrick just stares at him, but Jonny doesn’t make eye contact, so Patrick doesn’t have to respond, which honestly makes him pretty happy, because he would have no idea what to say back to Jonny in the first place.  
  
**********  
  
Patrick isn’t sure if it would be lame to text his sisters to try to figure out if Jonny is hitting on him, but there’s a part of Patrick that thinks that maybe Jonny is hitting on him. Part of him wonders whether he should try like, grabbing Jonny’s hand to see how he’d react, or if he should keep playing it cool until he inevitably gives in and tries making out with Jonny’s face.  
It’s just after eight when they leave the restaurant, all pleasantly full in the way that only eating way too much fried food can fill you with.  
  
“What are we doing now?” Mac asks, in a voice that’s way louder than necessary for everyone in the group to hear him, and Patrick is pretty sure he must’ve missed something because immediately Jonny, Dan, Halls, and Jake all stop walking to look at him. Patrick almost trips over Mac when he does.  
  
“What?” Crystal asks, when she sees all the boys have stopped and are just looking at each other.  
  
And that’s when Jonny turns to Patrick, a small smile on his face.  
  
“Time to see how good you really are.”  
  
**********  
  
“You guys brought skates?” Patrick asks.  
  
“Priorities,” Mac replies.  
  
“Tradition,” Dan says.  
  
“Roller skates,” Hall adds.  
  
“Jonny likes to show off,” Jake says, and they all laugh. Jonny shrugs.  
  
They walk back to the hotel and grab the gear that’s been jammed in a single bag that they’d shoved in the closet behind the ironing board. Mac pulls sticks out from under one of the beds which, what the fuck, Patrick slept on the floor last night and he never noticed them.  
  
There’s a park near the Hilton that apparently Jonny and his friends have been playing roller hockey in every year since the first time they went to the convention together. At first they’d tried to go during the day, but it’d been jammed with people playing basketball. Now it’s become their Saturday night tradition – if they go late on the weekends they’ve never really had a problem trying to use it.  
  
Patrick didn’t bring hockey gear; like, he barely had room to pack enough clean clothes, so he refuses to acknowledge that he’s given the skates that Allison normally wears, and they actually fucking fit him. They’re a little small and definitely too tight, but no one seems to care about that argument, which Patrick is definitely utilizing if for some reason he completely sucks out there. That and he’s like, an hour out from stuffing himself with fried food.  
  
And even though Patrick is (if he says so himself) an amazing hockey player, and kills it when he plays roller, roller hockey and ice hockey are totally different. Even skating is different from being on blades to being on wheels, so he’s not sure how good Jonny is expecting him to be out there.  
  
Good enough, apparently, that Jonny puts the two of them on a team together with Jake against Halls, Mac, and Dan. They don’t have goalies because no one has a mask, so they line up the two nets that are across from each other and make a rule to play to five, with each team having to score right post, left post, top post, back of the net, and bar down.  
  
Jonny actually brings the three of them together in a huddle to talk strategy, like they’re playing a game that actually matters. He plays center, which works great for Patrick, since he plays right wing. Jake’s been a forward on a club team at his college, so he’s fine playing on Jonny’s left side.  
  
“Are we actually playing for something?” Patrick asks, because Jonny is taking this way too seriously (so maybe they’re not playing for anything because that seems to be just how Jonny is).  
  
“Beds,” Halls replies, having heard them from where their huddle on the other side of the court has just broken apart.  
  
And after that, it’s on.  
  
**********  
  
Patrick’s never really been into fate or destiny or any of that crap. His sisters watch a lot of (dumb) movies about people who were like, meant to be together, and he knows his mom goes on and on about how she and Patrick’s dad are soulmates who were always destined to meet and get married and have a bunch of little Kane kids, but Patrick’s never really given a shit about it.  
Until he plays hockey with Jonny, and realizes it’s like they were fucking meant to play hockey together.  
  
Shit, it isn’t even ice hockey, it’s just roller hockey that Patrick’s using someone else’s stick and someone else’s skates and someone else’s pads, but as soon as Jen drops the puck and Jonny wins the face off, it’s barely a second before Patrick decks around Mac, passes the puck over to Jonny, who gets it farther down the court and sends a fucking beauty of a pass that goes right between Dan’s legs to Patrick, who shoots and hits the top post, not even four seconds in.  
  
Patrick skates to a stop just so he can stare at Jonny, who’s staring right back at him, because he doesn’t know about Jonny, but Patrick’s never clicked with someone like that after thirty seconds of playing together, their first time on a line together. Patrick can’t remember if he really played with Jonny when they were both on the Junior Flyers together, but he’s guessing they didn’t, because he knows he would remember playing with someone and having it be like this.  
  
“Shit,” Mac says, looking back and forth between the two of them.  
  
“Yeah,” Halls says, “You’re fucking telling me.”  
  
**********  
  
The rest of the game goes like that. Patrick and Jonny’s team wins, and the entire game only takes about fifteen minutes, so they play again, best of five. And Halls and Mac and Dan are good – all of them have played hockey for years, just like him and Jonny, have even played together before, but it’s like him and Jonny are just linked together out there. Patrick wouldn’t know how to describe it if he tried, but it’s like he knows where Jonny is going to pass the puck before he’s even done it, and like Jonny knows exactly where Patrick’s going to be before he’s even skated there.  
  
On the last play to clinch the third game, Jonny passes it to Patrick for his signature spin-o-rama, going around Halls and offs a shot that goes bar down, and it’s so fucking perfect that before Patrick realizes it he’s yelling and pumping his fist in celebration and Jonny slams into him, his arms around Patrick’s waist and cheering just as loud.  
  
Their skates finally come to the stop when Patrick’s back lands against the chain link fence, and Jonny grabs some of the bars above them to try to steady himself. Patrick’s used to goal cellies with all his friends, countless bodies all jammed together celebrating on the ice, but this is different. There’s no helmets, no mouthguards, no pads other than the ones on their knees and shoulders – it’s just him and Jonny, they’re bodies covered in sweat and pressed against each other. Jonny’s staring down at him, and their bodies are pressed against each other from leg to hip to chest, and the moment feels so intense that Patrick forgets everything other than the look on Jonny’s face. It’s like a mix of awe and shock and something else, something else that Patrick doesn’t know how to name.  
  
They stay like that for a few more seconds before Jonny suddenly pulls away, and Patrick goes back to trying to catch his breath. Mac and Halls are complaining that they should have a rematch where Jonny and Patrick are separated, and Crystal and Allison are saying that they want to skate too, because the two of them should have some say in who wins the beds. Jonny finally looks away from him to try to settle all of the different conversations that are going on, so Patrick skates idly over toward the other end where they put their shoes and water bottles (which Patrick is honestly hoping right now are not all full of vodka).  
  
Patrick sits down heavily on one of the benches so he can start unlacing his skates. The tightness is starting to hurt, and they’re the only skates that Allison has to wear, so she can’t play until he gives them back to her.  
  
“You good?”  
  
Patrick looks up and it’s Dan, who has skated to a stop in front of him. Everyone else is still down on the other end of the court, still in what looks like a heated discussion about a fair way of determining who gets beds.  
  
Patrick nods, because part of him doubts that Dan is concerned about how his feet are doing, and he doesn’t really know what else to say. Dan looks away for a moment, following Patrick’s gaze down the court. Patrick would like to think his eyes are on the group as a whole, but admittedly, he can’t look at anything but Jonny.  
  
Some time passes before Dan speaks. “Jonny is an absolute pain in the ass,” he says; Patrick can’t pretend that’s the sentence that he was expecting him to start with. “I think a lot us spend most of the time we’re with him wanting to punch him. I can’t even count how many times I have personally wanted to smash a hockey stick as hard as I could across Jonny’s face.” Dan’s voice trails off, and he looks at the concrete of the court for a long moment. “But he’s the best too, the best of all of them.”  
  
“And he’s the best because he’s so focused, and Jonny’s focused on hockey. He tries, like, you see him try to give the attention and consideration that he puts into hockey into everything else, but it just doesn’t always work out as well as you know he wants it to. School and friends and family and things like that. Because Jonny wants to play hockey. That’s all he’s ever wanted, as far back as I can remember.”  
  
Dan’s voice trails off again and he takes a deep exhale.  
  
“Look, as far as I can tell, Jonny doesn’t like, hook up. He probably wouldn’t appreciate me telling you, but I feel like I should. He doesn’t take people home, even at college – trust me, I’ve met most of his hockey team, and half of them think there’s something seriously wrong with him in that department, with the way some girls throw themselves at him – but Jonny doesn’t spend time with people who aren’t involved with hockey, who aren’t worth his time.”  
  
“I know you probably feel weird, spending all your time with a bunch of people you just meet a couple days ago. But you’re here because Jonny wants you to be here, because he wants you to be here with him, and because he thinks you’re worth his time. I wish I could say anything else that maybe would help you understand what I’m seeing, but I don’t know what else to say about how I think Jonny feels about you.”  
  
“Is Jonny…” Patrick tries to ask, but he has to stop himself, because he knows it’s not something he should ask Dan, knows it’s something he should be asking Jonny. He feels shocked, because he’s not sure what Dan has been seeing, but as someone who’s known Jonny for his entire life, he must’ve seen everything, whatever there even was to see going on between them.  
  
Dan brushes a hand through his hair and sighs before answering. “I’m being honest, man. I’ve known Jonny for years. And I can tell you for a fact, Jonny is into hockey. Other than that? I’m not sure. Nutrition, hockey, legal and ethical obligations, Canada…”  
  
Patrick and Dan both laugh. Patrick looks back at where Jonny is currently running whatever conversation is being had on the other end of the court.  
  
“But if you were to ask what I think? I think that Jonny is definitely into you.”  
  
They make eye contact again, and Patrick lets out a deep breath and nods.  
  
Patrick finishes putting back on his sneakers before he and Dan head back over to join the rest of the group.  
  
“Are you forfeiting?” Jonny asks, his eyes wide, as Patrick hands the skates back to Allison.  
  
“No,” Patrick replies. “Just have to make sure you’re good enough to win without me.”  
  
And Patrick isn’t sure if that was the right or wrong thing to say, because Jonny stares at him for a moment before answering, a smile slowly taking over his entire face.  
  
“Guess you’ll have to watch me try.”  
  
**********  
  
Patrick sits and watches them play four-on-four for two games, before everyone agrees it’s gotten late and they’re exhausted. It’s after ten by the time they get back to the Hilton; the guys head to the gym so they can all shower at the same time, and the girls head up to the hotel room.  
  
When they all meet back, there’s a general consensus that no one is ready to go to sleep and no one feels just like sitting around the room. Especially since it’s their last night together - Dan is going home with Allison to visit her family in Michigan, Jake, Jen, and Crystal are going home to different places in Illinois, Mac is doing a summer class in Montreal, Halls is heading out to visit friends in California, and Jonny is heading home to Winnipeg to prepare for the draft. There’s a unanimous decision that they need to celebrate, and it’s half an hour later when they find themselves in Cerise Rooftop.

 

Patrick throws the baseball cap he bought at the convention on backwards, hoping it’ll make him look a little older, maybe like a college kid. He honestly spends the walk over and the elevator ride worrying that his ID isn’t good enough to get him in to a night club in a swanky hotel, is beyond belief when his ID actually does, and is completely shocked when he learns that Jonathan Toews actually has a fake ID.  
  
He immediately has to give Jonny shit for it, and he actually looks mildly disappointed in himself. “Not my fault America has dumb laws about how old you need to be to drink.” And then it’s like, Patrick’s moral and ethical obligation to make him understand just how awesome America is.  
  
Mac and Halls offer to buy the first round, except when they come back to the couches they’ve claimed they have a tray full of drinks that look completely ridiculous. Whatever drink they hand to Jonny is actually pink.  
  
“They didn’t have Molson?” Jonny asks with a raised eyebrow; and like, sometimes he comes off so Canadian it actually hurts Patrick right in his American pride.  
  
Patrick isn’t going to complain about free drinks, and whatever they got him is too sweet and too fruity and absolutely amazing.  
  
Patrick just got his fake when he turned 17 in the fall – more so so that he could legally drink in Canada, where he always considered himself having a better chance at looking 18 than 21 - so he’s never really been out like this in the states. Whether any of the group has been to this club before he’s not sure, but they picked a place with an amazing atmosphere; there’s a ton of people spread out over a few levels and mostly everyone is on the dance floor, but there’s an even larger group on the rooftop. Mac, Halls, and Jonny have claimed a pretty large lounge area that has a black leather U-shaped couch that’s big enough to fit all of them; Patrick notices Jonny not looking at the Stanley Cup Finals game that’s on one of the televisions behind him.  
  
Patrick is pretty content hanging out and sipping his way-too-fruity drink, but eventually the girls find their way back over and want to dance and it doesn’t take much to convince Patrick to join them. Dan and Jake get dragged too, because they’re with Allison and Jen, respectively, so they take over a pretty large portion of the dance floor together. Patrick remembers saying something to Crystal about his dance moves earlier in the day when they were bonding over a similar taste in music (which is totally his sisters’ fault), and if there’s one thing that Patrick is almost as good at as playing hockey, it’s dancing (in his very own and very biased opinion, admittedly).  
  
There’s a good mix of songs, and he’s not sure how long he’s up there for, but eventually he finds his way back towards the bar so he can order another drink. There’s a young guy behind the bar that doesn’t seem very concerned about checking his ID (thank the hockey gods) and he orders an old-fashioned (that’s what like, mature adults drink, right?). Patrick might not look anything like Don Drapper, but he can pretend to be dapper as fuck like him anyway.  
  
He heads back over to the lounge area where Jonny, Mac, and Halls are sitting. Jonny apparently went up to get himself a beer at some point, because that’s what he’s drinking when Patrick sits down next to him.  
  
“Remember, Schmitt? Oh, that kid was the man,” Mac is saying and Halls face is showing more expression than Patrick thinks Jonny’s would ever be capable of.  
  
“Dude, he was the shit. What the hell happened to him?”  
  
Jonny replies. “Think he went to school in Pennsylvania. Not sure if he’s still playing hockey.”  
  
“And that friend of Allison’s that came last year?” Halls slaps Mac on the arm, his face looking like it’s exploding in on itself. “What the hell was her name? Seriously, she was so hot. Totally could’ve gotten with her if we didn’t all share a room.”  
  
“No way, man,” Mac says, rolling his eyes. “No way. She definitely was only interested in banging Jonny.”  
  
“No,” Jonny says, simply, definitively, not looking up at them like it’s even a topic for discussion.  
  
“Yeah, maybe, except then Jake told her that story about the time Jonny got drunk at school after one of their losses and made out with one of those guys from the other school’s hockey team. Where did that kid go, Michigan or something?”  
  
“He went to Minnesota,” Jonny says, casually, like he’s talking about the weather, his thumb wiping away the condensation on his beer glass, and not like he didn’t just completely wreck Patrick.  
  
“And David? David fucking bailed this year too!” Halls says and Jonny shrugs. “Shit, man, wonder which one of us won’t be back next year. Fuck, Jonny, it could be you. You could be in the playoffs! In the NHL!” Patrick hasn’t been sitting long enough to know exactly how much Halls has been drinking, but it seems like it’s a lot more than the rest of them.  
  
“I’m committed to UND next year, you know that.”  
  
“Oh shit, is Halls getting sentimental again?” Dan asks, like this is another one of their traditions as he sits down on the other side of Mac, Allison right behind him.  
  
Patrick’s trying to pay attention to the conversation, even as his brain is running a mile a minute. Like, shit, if Jonny got drunk and made out with a guy, then that means that Jonny is like, probably definitely into guys. And if Jonny is into guys, there’s a good chance that Jonny may actually somehow be possibly into Patrick. Jonny hasn’t looked at him since he sat down, hasn’t looked up from his beer, actually, so Patrick isn’t sure what he’s thinking, what he’s thinking about.  
  
But all Patrick can think about is his bus ride home tomorrow, the bus ride that’s taking him away from Jonny, like, probably forever, and there’s a lot of admittedly lame things about Jonny that should make Patrick not like him at all, but Jonny’s also kind of sweet and funny and beyond amazing at hockey in ways that even Patrick isn’t, and about everything he does just makes Patrick want to be even closer to him, know everything about him, be a part of him and his life and everything.  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
Patrick stands suddenly, his eyes wide. He stands so quickly he almost knocks right into the table, which would have probably made for a very unfortunate drink situation.  
  
“You okay, man?” Mac asks, grasping his drink like there’s still a chance it’ll topple over.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Patrick replies. He looks over, and Jonny is finally looking back at him. “Just, bathroom.” And Patrick books it away from the table as fast as he possibly can. He finds out from a waitress that there’s a bathroom on one of the lower levels, so he heads down the flight of stairs and thankfully finds himself in a men’s room that’s completely deserted.  
  
He shuts the stall door behind him and lets his forehead fall against his palms. His mind is reeling and his heart is pounding and he knows he hasn’t had that much to drink, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He leans his back against the wall of the bathroom and slides down, buries his face in his hands.  
  
“Pat? Where are you?”  
  
It’s Erica, who answers her cell phone on the second ring.  
  
“Pat, are you okay?” her voice immediately goes from slightly annoyed (because he is calling her after midnight) to extremely worried.  
  
“Hey, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just,” Patrick exhales, trying to figure out what to say. “I need some advice. Like, girl advice.”  
  
“Seriously? What’s going on? Did you get someone pregnant?”  
  
“What?!” Patrick exclaims, his dignity totally offended. “No! It’s not even about me. It’s about a friend.”  
  
“Um, okay,” she replies, even though she definitely doesn’t sound like she believes him. “What’s going on with your ‘friend’?”  
  
“Shit, don’t say it like that,” Patrick says. Fuck, maybe his sister is a lot smarter than him. Or just a lot more sober. “I’m being serious here,” and it must really sound that way in his voice, because her entire tone changes when she responds.  
  
“Of course, Pat. What’s going on?” she asks, finally sounding like she’s paying attention.  
  
Patrick shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Seriously, he feels so stupid and so lost and so hopeless and so hopeful all at the same time. “How do you tell if a guy likes you?”  
  
“Is this about your friend?” Erica asks, which, as Patrick has clearly explained, is definitely not the point, and also, yes it is.  
  
“Yes, she, who is my friend, is trying to tell if a guy likes her. Like, so how does she tell. What do guys do when they like you?”  
  
“Uh, I’m not sure. You’re a boy. How do you show a girl you like her?” Erica asks, and Patrick is definitely not going to respond to that, because the honest answer is hang all over her, attempt to use some shitty pick-up lines, hope that she thinks he’s funny, and he’s never been too good at getting it much farther than that. Hope she’s really into hockey, honestly, and that’ll take care of the rest. And Jonny is definitely into hockey, and may have the odd sense of humor to fall for some of his pick-up lines, but Patrick isn’t sure that’s the route he wants to take here.  
  
“Not a good example, Erica. Like, don’t any boys like you? What do they do?” he asks. “Or if no guys like you, what type of shit do they do in those girl movies? Or those magazines you read?”  
  
“Um, thanks, Pat. Yeah, guys like me,” she says, and Patrick does know that his sister is awesome, but also guys shouldn’t be anywhere near her; she’s only sixteen. “I don’t know. They like, try to talk to me a lot and be around me, I guess. Like, he’ll sit next to me in class or maybe like, text me or instant message me. Or like, if I say to him that I’m going with my friends to the mall, like, he and his friends will show up at the mall and basically follow us around the whole time.”  
  
Well, Jonny has been talking to him a lot. And sitting next to him a lot. So Patrick is guessing those are all good signs.  
  
“Okay. And what do like, girls do. Not girls as like, girls. But like, girls as people. What do they do when they like a guy back. Like, what would you do?”  
  
It’s a moment before she answers. “Flirt back with him, I guess. Like, say cute things to him. Like, try to be close to him.”  
  
“It better not be that close,” Patrick responds, immediately, because there might be some guys he needs to have a serious talking to with when he gets back to Buffalo.  
  
“Pat! Seriously, you called me here. If you wanted some one else’s advice, you could’ve called mom.” Which, oh my fucking gosh no, Patrick does not want to hear his mom talking about like, dating his dad, or dating people that are not his dad. He’s heard way more of those stories in his life than he thinks are necessary.  
  
“Sorry, right. Okay, got it. Thanks, Erica. Go to sleep, it’s way too late for you to still be up,” he says.  
  
“Hey, what the hell, I’m sixteen, and it’s the summer, so I can go to sleep when I feel like it.”  
  
“Thanks, sis,” Patrick replies, because he is so lucky to have sisters who are so amazing. “I’ll see you Monday.”  
  
“See you then, loser. But hey, good luck to your friend or whatever,” she says, and Patrick can’t help but smile before hanging up.  
  
Patrick takes another deep breath before slipping his phone back in his pocket. He stops at the mirror after exiting the stall, trying to give himself a mental pep talk. He’s good at hyping himself up before games or before try outs and tournaments, but this is different. Here, he has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do. But Jonny isn’t going to get a clue of how much Patrick is into him while Patrick is semi-hiding in the bathroom, so he takes one last deep breath before pushing the bathroom door open.  
  
And Patrick has to stop for a minute, because it’s so dark in the hallway it takes his eyes a second to adjust to the complete loss of light, and then he stays stopped as the door closes behind him, because there in the hallway, his back against the wall and his legs crossed at the ankles, is Jonny.  
  
Jonny is staring down at his shoes, but his head lifts when he hears the door close.  
  
“Hi, Patrick,” he says, letting his head fall back against the wall.  
  
“Hi, Jonny,” Patrick says, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he can hear it in his ears, feel it in his hands where they’re clenched at his sides, wonders if Jonny can hear how loud it is in the few feet of space that separates them.  
  
“Heading home tomorrow?” Jonny asks, which is admittedly not the question that Patrick was expecting. He wonders if Jonny heard any of the conversation that Patrick was having in the bathroom - he doesn’t remember hearing the door open at all, but he wasn’t exactly paying attention.  
  
“Yeah, bus back to Buffalo tomorrow night,” Patrick replies. Jonny nods, goes back to looking at his shoes. “What about you?”  
  
“My car is parked in a garage on 8th street. Heading back to UND for a few days to meet with my coach about conditioning for the summer, make sure I’m ready for the combine,” he says. Patrick nods, even though Jonny doesn’t look up for him to see it. There’s silence, even as the music from upstairs filters into the space between them. It seems to last forever.  
  
“I meant to ask you,” Jonny starts, finally, shoving his hands into his pocket, his eyes looking particularly focused on the toe of his shoe. “When I asked you yesterday. You said you weren’t buying gifts for your girlfriend. But you never said you didn’t have one.”  
  
“I don’t,” Patrick says back, too quickly, but like, he doesn’t have much time left here to be subtle, and Jonny looks up as soon as the words have left his mouth. He can’t see Jonny’s face very well from this far away, even as his eyes have finally started to adjust to the darkness.  
  
“No girls waiting for you back in Buffalo? Or Canada?” Jonny asks, and Patrick’s relieved that there’s a bit of lightness to his voice now. He doesn’t know how, but Patrick finally wills himself to move forward, to close the distance between them until he’s right in front of Jonny, so close that Patrick can read every subtle change in Jonny’s face, even though he needs to bend his neck backwards to look up at him. He wonders now if it’s just his own heart that’s beating so loudly, or if Jonny’s is too.  
  
“No girls,” Patrick says, not meeting his gaze for a moment, even as he lifts a hand and places it on Jonny’s waist. He feels Jonny’s hand when it threads into his curls, the few that are sticking out under his baseball cap, and Patrick takes another deep breath before the words finally make it out of him. “No guys, either.”  
  
Jonny moves his hand then, out of Patrick’s curls and downward, passing ever so lightly and ever so softly down his neck, fleetingly delicate as they trace down his spine, leaving trails of fire down Patrick’s back before finally stopping at the waistband off his pants, pressing just slightly, just enough to move their bodies closer together until they’re touching everywhere, and Patrick has to lean forward, drop his head down so that it’s resting on Jonny’s shoulder as a shiver passes through him so hard and so suddenly he couldn’t control it if he tried.  
  
“Want to go hang out at the hotel?” Patrick hopes he says it loud enough that Jonny can hear him, even as he mumbles it into Jonny’s shirt. “Just us.”  
  
It takes a moment before Patrick can meet Jonny’s eyes again. Jonny’s face is so close Patrick forgets how to breath, feels Jonny’s words as he whispers them against his ear. “Just us.”  
  
Jonny’s takes his hand then, even laces their fingers together, but there’s no people in the hallway and it’s so dark he’s not sure if anyone would notice, would even care if they did.  
  
They agree that Jonny will go upstairs and let his friends know they’re leaving, so Patrick waits by the front door for him to come back downstairs. He’s only gone a few minutes, and he’s smiling when he sees Patrick again, like maybe a part of him thought that Patrick wouldn’t be there, waiting for him.  
  
The elevator ride back down to the main lobby is silent, and the walk back to the hotel is mostly silent. It’s comfortable between them, even as they turn back onto Michigan Avenue and head in the direction of the Hilton. Patrick thinks of asking Jonny what he told his friends, why he said that the two of them were leaving. He guesses he could’ve blamed it on exhaustion, since the two of them did wake up at 4:30 in the morning to go the gym and then spent a full day running around the Blackhawks convention only to spend the evening playing roller hockey, but he can’t imagine them letting Jonny go that easily. Patrick feels his face burn up as he thinks about Jonny telling them that he and Patrick were going back to the hotel room to like, bang or some shit like that, and immediately he feels his pulse start racing again, as every step gets them closer to the Hilton, and closer to them being alone together.  
  
When Jonny finally starts talking, he’s commenting on Chicago weather and things he likes about Millennium Park, like maybe what happened in the club Patrick totally imagined and it didn’t happen at all. He hasn’t had that much to drink, so he can’t even say he’s drunk, and he doesn’t think Jonny is either. He doesn’t try to take Patrick’s hand again, which Patrick is definitely not a little upset about, seriously. It’s only about a fifteen-minute walk back, but they pass a decent amount of people along the way, and everything feels so real now that they’re outside, now that it’s just the two of them, now that Patrick can see the flags flying over the entrance to the Hilton.  
  
They take the elevator upstairs in silence, the first time that Patrick has even been in the main elevators since he’s usually been with the group sneaking up the stairs. Jonny pulls a room key out of his wallet to show the guard standing in front of them, and Patrick is greeted by a dozen sets of elevator doors, all covered with pictures of the current Blackhawks.  
  
The lobby is almost emptied, a few people in Blackhawks gear loitering on the stairs to the different ballrooms, and they ride up to the 21st floor of the hotel alone. Patrick keeps trying to sneak glances at Jonny’s face, and Jonny really isn’t looking at him, isn’t looking like much of anything, just smiling to himself a bit, like he isn’t having an internal meltdown.  
  
And Patrick is also not having an internal meltdown, at least he tries to convince himself, even as the elevator arrives at their floor, even as they walk in silence down the hallway to their room, even when Jonny uses his key to open the door. It feels so strange, when the door closes behind them – all the bags and clothes reminiscent of the presence of so many people are there, but it’s just the two of them now, alone, together.  
  
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Patrick says, even though he just showered after playing roller hockey barely two hours ago, but he did do a lot of dancing in the club so he kind of feels disgusting again, and also like, he seriously needs to be alone for a second to calm the fuck down.  
  
“Okay,” Jonny says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and sitting down on the edge of one of the beds. Patrick doesn’t waste any time grabbing some clothes out of his backpack and heading into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Not that Jonny was going to attempt to like, join him in the shower. Or that Patrick would’ve minded if he had tried.  
  
“Fuck,” Patrick whispers out loud to himself. He is definitely, definitely fucked.  
  
**********  
  
Patrick spends at least five minutes just standing, staring at the back of the bathroom door. He’s trying to take really slow, really deep breathes to try to calm his heart, because it feels like it’s about to beat right out of his chest. He honestly wonders how his heart has been dealing with all of this stress tonight, because part of him feels like he’s about to pass the fuck out. Patrick wonders if he inhaled too much steam in the shower, like he maybe he’s about to die from smoke inhalation or something, and maybe that’s to blame for why his heart is beating so erratically.  
  
Patrick gets nervous before a hockey game, sometimes, and he gets nervous before try outs for different teams, occasionally, but always he knows what to expect in all of those times, what he needs to show and who he needs to be, and what the people who are watching him are looking for.  
  
But on the other side of that bathroom door? He has no idea what to expect, no idea who Jonny thinks he is, no idea what Jonny is looking for.  
  
He runs a hand through his curls, which he didn’t bother washing again since he just washed them two hours ago, and takes one final deep breath before opening the door.  
  
Jonny is laying on one of the beds, his legs crossed loosely at the ankles, his gaze focused on the iPod that’s in his hand. He’s wearing the same plaid pajama pants he had on the night before, and a faded Shattucks St. Mary’s t-shirt. Jonny glances up from the screen when he hears the door open.  
  
“Hi, Patrick,” he says, and the smile that crosses Jonny’s face completely destroys whatever part of Patrick was focused on being nervous, because he can’t focus on anything but Jonny.  
  
“Hi, Jonny,” Patrick says, a deep exhale following. He crosses the few feet between the bathroom door and the bed that Jonny’s laying on and sits down on the edge of it. Patrick looks back over at Jonny, who’s rolled over onto his side, his iPod falling from his chest so that it’s face down on the bed between them. Patrick swings his legs up and lays down so he’s a mirror of Jonny, his head on the pillow and his hands curled in front of him.  
  
It’s just silence then, as Patrick studies Jonny’s face and Jonny stares back at him. Patrick almost has to wonder if the world is still moving outside of these walls, if time is still passing or if everything has faded away so that it’s just the two of them, in this room, on this bed, at some point in time that’s slowed down for a few soft, painful moments.  
  
Then.  
  
“Can I kiss you?”  
  
For a second Patrick isn’t sure if that’s what Jonny said, if Jonny said anything at all. The words are there for a moment, audible in the small space between them, but they’re gone as suddenly and silently as they came. Jonny’s face doesn’t look any different, as if Patrick’s lack of response isn’t something that’s bothering him, and Patrick wonders if the words ever existed between them, or if it was something he imagined.  
  
It’s a few more seconds before Patrick nods, finally, slowly, and a few more before either of them moves.  
  
Patrick shifts on the bed so that his body is closer to Jonny’s. It’s a double bed, and they’re an arms-length apart, and Patrick stops once he’s reached the end of the pillow under his head.  
  
Jonny reaches a hand out then, and places it on Patrick’s hip, on the skin that’s revealed there. His hands are firm and strong, like they were when they were giving him a massage, like they were when they threaded through Patrick’s hair in the club. Jonny runs his hand up his back this time, achingly slowly so that Patrick feels like his nerves are on fire, like he can feel each one of Jonny’s fingertips through his t-shirt, until they reach the base of Patrick’s skull and weave into his hair, clinging to a few pieces that are damp from when they got wet in the shower. Jonny shifts closer then, a lot closer, so that Patrick can smell the mint of his breath, so that he can see the light from the bathroom reflect off the color in Jonny’s eyes, can feel the heat as it radiates off his skin.  
  
Jonny leans in and Patrick watches as his eyes close, and Jonny kisses him.  
  
And Patrick is gone, completely lost in that moment, lost in Jonny’s mouth and the heat that spreads through him, his entire body enveloped in the sensation of Jonny kissing him. He reaches forward then, puts a hand on Jonny’s back and pushes their bodies together so their chests are flush, so he can feel Jonny against him, centering him, even as he feels like he’s falling apart, like everything is too much and not enough all at once. Patrick’s eyes are closed and he’s completely overwhelmed by the moment, by Jonny, by the emotions cascading inside of him, until he feels like he’s suffocating, until he feels like he needs Jonny to breath.  
  
He opens his mouth and then Jonny is inside him, the smooth velvet of his mouth, the heat of his breath, the soft skin of his tongue, and Patrick has to pull back for a moment, because it’s too much and he just needs some air, and Jonny keeps kissing him then, like he can’t get enough, like this much of Patrick isn’t enough for him, kisses his cheeks and his neck and lifts his shirt up as far as it will go so he can kiss his chest and his stomach, his fingertips and his mouth skirting over the sensitive areas of Patrick’s skin as his lips trail further downward.  
  
“Jonny,” Patrick gasps and Jonny is right there again, his lips on Patrick’s, and Patrick wraps his arms around Jonny’s neck and pulls so that Jonny’s on top of him, so that he’s balanced and focused and grounded by Jonny’s weight and his body pining him against the mattress. Jonny’s bigger than him, heavier than him, but Patrick feels like he needs this, needs Jonny on top of him.  
  
They separate for a moment so that Patrick can work Jonny’s shirt over his shoulders, so that Patrick can see and feel and touch even more of him, so that Patrick can grip his arms and his back and his fingers can feel the muscles working underneath Jonny’s skin. He doesn’t know how long they stay that way, just kissing each other, until his mouth feels used and raw but he can’t stop, can’t do anything but try to get Jonny even closer, to cover every inch of him, until Jonny shifts and their dicks line up and Patrick swears that he sees stars behind his eyes.  
  
“Fuck, Pat,” Jonny says, pulling his mouth away as they start moving together, almost unconsciously as the need reverberates between them. It feels so good, the pressure of Jonny and Jonny’s body against him, but it’s not enough and he needs more, needs more of Jonny, so he gets Jonny back on his side on the bed. Jonny gets a thigh between Patrick legs so he has something to rub off on, and Patrick manages to find Jonny’s mouth again. It’s fucking obscene, when he looks at Jonny’s lips, can see how swollen they are from Patrick biting just a little, but Jonny groans every time he does, his hips shifting against Patrick so he can get a little more pressure.  
  
“Jonny,” Patrick can’t help it, he fucking whines when Jonny’s hand moves from where it’s been under his shirt to cup his dick through his pants. Jonny kisses him again, swallowing the sounds that Patrick makes with his mouth, his tongue fighting with Patrick’s for control, a dominance that Jonny claims easily because Patrick is too focused on the sensation of Jonny’s thumb where it’s pressing into the head of his dick. He groans, his head falling back, Jonny’s lips finding his neck then, the underside of his jaw, the heat of his mouth and the hand on his dick taking Patrick apart.  
  
But Patrick can’t hide his competitive streak, so he finally manages to tear his hand away from where it’s been feeling the movement of Jonny’s ass and slips beneath the waistband of Jonny’s pajama pants.  
  
Jonny groans, his lips finally separating from Patrick as Patrick’s palm presses against the warm skin of Jonny’s shaft. Patrick is so overwhelmed, trying to concentrate on the hand he has on Jonny’s dick and the hand Jonny has on his dick and Jonny’s mouth finding his again; he doesn’t know how much longer he can last. It’s too good, Jonny’s too good.  
  
Patrick just about manages to pull enough of Jonny’s pants down around his hips to get his dick out, and he groans as soon as he sees Jonny’s length revealed, hard and long and red, and Patrick has to shut his eyes so that he doesn’t come from just looking at him, because it really is unfair how fucking hot Jonny is, his body hard and muscled and beautiful – there’s no other word for him, and he’s so into Patrick he can’t even wrap his head around it.  
  
Jonny’s doing the same, tugging at Patrick’s waistband, and Patrick lifts himself just enough so that Jonny can get Patrick’s pants down around his thighs and his dick springs free, the tip already wet with precum. Jonny uses a finger to massage it into the slit, down the head, running his finger down the vein, just the slightest hint of pressure. Jonny’s fingers are calloused, a little rough just like Patrick likes it. Patrick thinks about what do to, all the ways he wishes he could see Jonny fall apart in front of him, but the urge to touch Jonny is just too much for him to overcome. “Fuck, Pat,” Jonny says when Patrick’s hand finally closes around the length of him.  
  
They’re making out again, finally, because Patrick managed to take a second from looking at where Jonny’s hand is working his shaft and looking at his face and he has no idea how he’s gone this long without kissing him. He moves so their bodies are just a little bit closer, so the angle of their bodies are better, so he can get his mouth on Jonny’s even as he has his hand around Jonny’s cock.  
  
The kisses are more intense now, more desperate, even as they keep separating for a moment to catch their breath, to groan into each other’s mouths.  
  
Patrick has never had a dick in his hand that wasn’t his own, and he has definitely never had two dicks in his hand, but he wants it, wants to be touching Jonny and Jonny to be touching him, so when Jonny moves his hand just a moment to better the angle of his wrist Patrick brings their bodies closer together.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Jonny says, as soon as Patrick’s hand brings their dicks together, closes and tightens around the both of them, the heat almost overwhelming, almost too much, the width of him against Jonny stretching his hand almost to the limit, but there’s so much precum coating his fingers when he starts to set a rhythm he’s able to work the two of them together.  
  
Jonny’s arm wraps around Patrick’s body, his hand grasping Patrick’s ass and squeezing hard, so hard Patrick wonders if it’s going to leave a mark, the imprint of Jonny’s hand owning him, claiming him. He keeps his hand there, massaging the muscle, before trailing downward, so lightly, until Jonny’s fingers find his taint and he presses.  
  
Patrick gasps, the sensation so new, too much, his hips bucking, and Patrick almost loses his grip around the two of them.  
  
“Pat,” Jonny manages. His hips have begun moving again, pushing his dick sharply into Patrick’s hand, speeding up their movement. “Fuck, Patrick, I’m gonna..”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick gasps, his hand changing pace to match Jonny’s hips, getting more hurried as he feels Jonny get impossibly harder in his hand, his own hips responding subconsciously, chasing the feeling, chasing Jonny. “Me too.”  
  
Jonny comes first, his entire body shuddering as he comes all over his own chest, and all it takes is for him to see Jonny come for Patrick to be completely gone, his orgasm crashing through him just a few seconds later. Some of it lands on the sheets and some of it lands with the come that’s already marked Jonny’s chest, and it’s so fucking hot Patrick thinks he might die.  
  
They lay together, trying to catch their breath, the minutes passing with no movement or sound other than the rise and fall of their chests and them gasping for air. Eventually Jonny gets up and goes into the bathroom to clean himself off. He brings back a towel for Patrick so he can wipe off his hand; thankfully his shirt didn’t get too messed up in the process, because he doesn’t have that many other options to go with, and none of those options are clean. There’s a wet spot closer to one side of the bed now, so Patrick scoots all the way to the other side.  
  
“Here,” Jonny says, possibly seeing the come that’s on Patrick’s shirt. He goes over to one of the bags and throws something in Patrick’s direction. “It’s clean.”

  
It’s a University of North Dakota hockey shirt, and Patrick doesn’t say anything, just changes into Jonny’s t-shirt because Jonny offered it to him. Jonny doesn’t bother putting on a shirt, just shuts off the light and comes to bed with his pajama pants pulled back up and lays down next to Patrick, close so that he’s not touching the wet spot.  
  
Patrick wonders if maybe that will be it, come and done, but as soon as Jonny’s close enough he kisses him again, slower this time, and the exhaustion must finally catch up to Jonny because he falls asleep like that after a few minutes, his head resting on Patrick’s shoulder, one of his hands threaded in Patrick’s hair. Patrick has no idea how he isn’t asleep, since he’s been awake for almost twenty-two hours, but he doesn’t think his body would be able to drift off with how quickly his heart is still beating. He’s able to retrieve the television remote from the bedside table without moving Jonny and turns the tv on, lowering the volume all the way so that it doesn’t wake him. He has one hand on Jonny’s back, and he runs his fingers softly over the dip at the bottom of his spine.  
  
Not much time passes before Patrick feels like he’s finally close to sleep, but he almost jumps when he hears the unmistakable sound of a key being inserted into the door. His mind goes blank and he wonders if he should jump off the bed or do something, because he and Jonny are fucking laying on a bed together and Jonny is shirtless and half on top of him, but before he can make a decision on what he should do the door opens and there’s Dan and Allison, Halls and Mac.  
  
Patrick’s mouth is definitely hanging open, and he feels completely fucking horrified, but all Dan does is put a finger to his lips and then point at Jonny, like the only concern that he has in the world is not waking him. Mac and Halls nod at him and Patrick nods back as much as he can while not wanting to move Jonny. They all change in the semi darkness with just the light from the television and slip into their beds and sleeping bags. Technically Jonny and Patrick both won a bed from the roller hockey game, so it kind of works out in everyone’s favor that they’re sharing one for the night.  
  
He turns the tv off when everyone seems to have settled down and curls himself a little more into Jonny. Patrick feels Jonny’s fingers tighten in his hair and a feather soft kiss on his cheek, and Patrick finally closes his eyes and falls asleep.  
  
**********  
  
Patrick and Jonny never talked about getting up the next morning to work out, so Patrick had set his alarm for six o’clock. A bunch of them had talked about getting up early to get a picture with Niklas Hjalmarrson, a rookie defenseman that had done pretty well in his first season with the Hawks. By Sunday most of the big-name players have already cleared out, left Chicago to go back home for the rest of the summer, so there’s more focus on the rookies and the old-timers, and since Patrick and the group have met most of the alumni having come to the convention so many times, they agree to concentrate on the rookies.  
  
So when Patrick’s alarm goes off at six o’clock that morning, he wakes up to Jonny’s arm around his waist and his back pressed to Jonny’s chest. He almost thinks of staying where he is, it’s so warm and he’s so comfortable, but Jonny’s alarm goes off a few seconds later, along with a few other phones, so he figures that means everyone is sticking to the plan.  
Except Jonny just shuts off his phone and then buries his face back into Patrick’s curls, tightening his arm around his waist. Patrick can’t help but to smile to himself, turning under Jonny’s hold so he can wrap an arm around Jonny’s waist. Jonny opens his eyes just enough so that he can see Patrick’s face, but all he does is lean forward enough to place a kiss on the soft skin under Patrick’s eye and then bury his face back in Patrick’s neck, apparently in no rush to get up.  
  
The people that are awake get ready silently and then meet up on the couches outside of the elevators on their floor. Patrick’s the first one there, having eventually disentangled himself from Jonny and having already showered twice in the past twelve hours, and since he doesn’t really have any clothes to change into or anything else to do other than brush his teeth he gets ready quickly. He thinks about changing it but ends up leaving Jonny’s t-shirt on, so he just throws on the only other pair of pants he brought. He’s pretty sure that everyone knows something happened less night, since everyone came back to him and Jonny intertwined in bed together, so there’s no real point in him trying to hide it over a t-shirt. Jonny and Mac are the next ones that leave the room, and Jonny honestly looks pretty miserable being awake right now, which is saying something because he isn’t even going to the gym, but he manages some sort of smile when he sees Patrick waiting, and Patrick is definitely not expecting it when Jonny says, “Morning,” and leans down to actually fucking kiss him.  
  
“Good morning,” Mac says, even though it definitely isn’t directed at him and he’s smiling a lot brighter than anyone has any right to at 6:20 in the morning. Jonny doesn’t seem to notice; his eyes barely look open.  
  
“I fucking need coffee,” Jonny says, sitting down hard on the couch next to Patrick.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick replies, since he only got about three hours of sleep last night. “Think we all need coffee.”  
  
“For sure, man,” Mac replies, pushing the button for the elevator. “They’re taking way too long. Let’s ditch.”  
  
**********  
  
The convention ends at one on Sunday, and everyone seems to be leaving shortly after. The rest of the group meets them in the café in the lobby by 6:45 and then head downstairs to wait on the line for Hjalmarsson. They’re all able to get wristbands for a photograph with him, so they sit together and talk for a while; if everyone knows something happened between him and Jonny last night, none of them are giving them any shit for it, are even acting like anything is different from the night before, even though Patrick feels like everything is different.  
  
They all stay together that morning, and after standing on line and getting an autograph from Jack Skille, they head over to Salon C. Salon C is definitely aimed more towards kids – there’s a small replica of an ice rink that kids can play in, and a Zamboni that people can sit on and take pictures with. They get a group picture in the replica locker room set up, and then Patrick heads over to the displays of hockey trophies – everything from the Maurice Richard to the Frank J. Selke, all lined and polished and beautiful.  
  
Patrick stops and spends a long time staring at the Art Ross. He does every year, honestly - stares at the Calder and the Conn Smythe, looking at all the empty plaques for future names, for future top scorers and future best rookies and future playoff MVPs, wondering if maybe, someday, his name will be engraved on one of those plaques, wondering if he’ll ever make it to the NHL after spending his whole life dreaming about it. Every year he’s been to the convention and seen these trophies and he feels it – another year older, another year closer, if he just keeps working harder, just keeps trying to be better.  
  
He doesn’t realize when Jonny comes up behind him, just feels the hand that comes to rest on his lower back. Patrick looks up at Jonny, but he isn’t looking at the trophies, he’s looking at Patrick.  
  
“Someday,” Jonny says, and Patrick knows that Jonny understands, knows that he feels the weight of the moment, his own draft just over a month away.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick says, looking back at the Art Ross. “Someday.”  
  
**********  
  
They stay at the convention until the last minute, until all their phones say it’s one o’clock and hotel staff begin to take down the decorations that haven’t been stolen by people leaving the convention. It feels surreal, even as they go upstairs and pack their bags, even as Halls checks out at the front desk, that it’s over already, that as quickly as the convention comes every year, it’s gone again, another whole year until the next one.  
  
Halls has a flight to catch and Mac’s got a long drive to Montreal, so they say good bye to them before going to eat at a lunch spot the woman at the front desk had recommended. Patrick knows he should be starving but he doesn’t even feel hungry; he honestly just feels panicked every time he glances at his phone, reads the time on the display, realizes that the minutes keep ticking by and he has a bus ride home tonight. He tries not to think about it, tries to stay in the moment, tries to get lost in Jonny smile’s every time he looks at him, but sometimes it feels too hard, like he’s getting everything and losing everything all too quickly.  
  
Dan parked his car in the same place as Jonny, and he’s driving Allison, Jake, Crystal, and Jen to their respective transportation stops, so they head over to the parking garage when they’re done eating.  
  
“See you around,” Patrick says as Dan gives him a hug good-bye.  
  
Dan smiles and nods. “Yeah, I think you will.”  
  
Once they leave it’s just him and Jonny, standing on the eighth floor of a mostly empty parking garage.  
  
“What time is your bus again?” Jonny asks as he opens the door to his car.  
  
“Ten thirty,” Patrick says, fiddling with the strap on his backpack. He wonders what he’s supposed to do for the rest of the day, how he’s supposed to sit and spend hours in this city doing something other than think about Jonny. He tries not to think about last night; he feels heat spread through his body every time he thinks of how Jonny kissed him, like Patrick was the only person in the world worth kissing, and sometimes he feels overwhelmed by the memory, like maybe if he closed his eyes he could put himself right back in that moment, imagine just how Jonny’s tongue felt when it was inside his mouth.  
  
Plus Patrick does not feel like walking around the city for the rest of the day with a boner, so he really tries not to think about it.  
  
“Put your bag inside,” Jonny says, but Patrick doesn’t move.  
  
“Aren’t you going to North Dakota?” Patrick asks as Jonny places his bag in the trunk and looks over at him.  
  
“Yeah, later. But we’re here, now. Let’s spend the day in Chicago.”  
  
**********  
  
So Patrick and Jonny spend the day in Chicago together.  
  
They spend a lot of time just walking through the streets together, talking about anything and everything that comes to mind, like they have been since their first conversation, all of it flowing so easily between them. They browse through a few tourist shops so Patrick can pick up a few more things for his parents and his sisters. He demands they stop at Garrett’s to get some popcorn, and even though Jonny agrees to share a small bag of the classic mix, Patrick has to pull him by the wrist out of the store when he starts reading the nutritional information poster they have on the wall.  
  
They walk through Millennium Park, stopping and listening to a band for a while that’s playing an outdoor concert before finding a mini golf course and deciding to play a round. Jonny is super competitive, but Patrick ends up winning by three strokes and Jonny ends up cursing out one of the wooden obstacles on the seventh hole.  
  
It’s amazing.  
  
They head towards Navy Pier afterward, which is pretty crowded since it’s a Sunday and the weather is so nice, but they don’t try to go in any of the stores or on any of the rides – they just walk to the end, where the pier juts out into Lake Michigan. It’s a stunning view; facing one way there’s nothing but blue as far as the eye can see, and in the other there’s the Chicago skyline, all its varied architecture and buildings like no city Patrick has ever seen before.  
  
“You know, I’d be okay with it,” Jonny says, after they’ve been staring out at the water for a few minutes in silence.  
  
“With what?” Patrick asks. He looks over at Jonny, who’s leaning with his forearms against the rail. Jonny doesn’t look over at him, and a few more moments pass.  
  
“Ending up here. Playing hockey here,” he says, and Patrick nods. He doesn’t even think about what team would draft him, too focused on the idea that maybe it won’t happen with the constant questions he gets about his height from every recruiter and every coach that he’s willing to go anywhere, can’t even hope for any of the teams in any of the cities he would love to play in. He’d ask Jonny where he would want to play when they were standing on one of the autograph lines yesterday, and Jonny hadn’t answered.  
  
“You could, too,” Jonny adds, and Patrick looks up from where he’s been staring down at his hands.  
  
“I could what?”  
  
“End up here. Play hockey here.”  
  
Patrick can’t help but let out a short laugh, and Jonny finally looks over him. “Maybe. Have a year of hockey to play before that. Who knows if I’ll even make it to the NHL. No one wants to draft a guy who’s short.”  
  
Patrick looks down for a moment, because he hates fucking thinking like this but sometimes he just can’t help it, when it feels like there’s so much uncertainty and so much time left for so many things to go wrong. And when every other guy his age just seems so fucking tall.  
  
But Patrick barely has time to think before he feels Jonny’s fingers under his chin, tilting his head back up, and now Jonny’s turned so that his body is facing Patrick’s, even though Patrick is still leaning with his arms over the railing.  
  
“Don’t think like that,” Jonny says, looking genuinely disappointed at Patrick for saying shit like that about himself. He moves his hand so that his palm is caressing the side of Patrick’s face. “No one’s going to care about your height; they’re going to be too busy looking at your hands. You’re going to make it to the NHL. You know you will. I know you will.” And before Patrick’s registered what’s going on, Jonny’s leaned down and kissed him, standing together at the end of Navy Pier, and it lasts only a second and Patrick is so shocked he doesn’t even respond to the kiss; suddenly Jonny’s lips are gone and his hand is back at his side.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, finally, when it feels like his heart beat has started to return to normal. “Maybe I can play hockey here.” And when he finally looks at Jonny, Jonny’s smiling back at him.  
  
**********  
  
Patrick considers himself a pretty good guy, pretty open to compromise and playing fair and shit like that, but when Jonny starts a conversation about getting something for dinner, Patrick walks straight into the Margaritaville on Navy Pier before Jonny even has time to debate about going someplace else.  
  
They get a table outside since the weather’s nice, and they take their time just relaxing and watching part of one of the basketball games that’s on the tv over the bar. Patrick takes a chance on his fake ID, and the waitress who’s serving them is young and definitely doesn’t give a shit whether he’s old enough to drink or not, so Patrick orders an insanely large margarita even though Jonny definitely judges him the whole time.  
  
And Jonny can’t say shit because Patrick needs the alcohol, because he’s about three seconds from having a fucking mental breakdown.  
  
Patrick – fuck, he knows that he’s literally known Jonny for less than three days, but fuck Patrick, because he can’t even lie to himself that he’s ever felt this way about another person in his admittedly short but still totally awesome seventeen years of existence. And like, obviously Jonny feels, whatever, something, for him – like, the guy literally just kissed him in broad daylight at one of the top tourist attractions in the entire fucking city of Chicago, but like, he’s not really sure what Jonny is thinking, what the two of them are doing here.  
  
So he tries to distract himself with Jonny and alcohol, telling himself that if he never sees Jonny again after today he’ll be totally fucking fine, even when his heart is doing really obnoxious things in his chest like feeling like it’s shattering into a thousand pieces every time he thinks about not seeing Jonny’s stupidly attractive face anymore.  
  
They sit outside and watch the people on the pier until after the sun has set and the lights are illuminating the Ferris wheel. When the check comes Jonny insists on paying, even when Patrick tries shoving money at him, but he insists that since Patrick paid for the popcorn it’s only fair Jonny pays for dinner, which it is definitely questionable, because Patrick only paid like, seven dollars for popcorn and Patrick knows there is no way that his two margaritas and Jonny’s one beer and all the food they ordered only added up to seven dollars. But Jonny hands the money to the waitress before Patrick can grab the receipt, so he just glares at him while Jonny tries to look all innocent and gentlemanly or some shit like that.  
  
It’s a bit of a walk back to the parking garage, which is on the street next to the Hilton, and Patrick spends half the time thinking he should’ve ordered another margarita so he was actually drunk enough to have the courage to ask Jonny what the fuck is going on between them and the other half wondering what the hell Jonny is thinking about. Jonny is definitely sober - he only had one beer because he said he had to drive, and he looks completely and infuriatingly calm, and not at all like his insides are crumbling because Patrick is going to leave him soon and they’re never going to see each other again (professional NHL careers notwithstanding).  
  
When they pass by the Hilton the Blackhawks flag is no longer flying over the entrance way, and the sign by the side entrance where he met Michael Nylander is gone, too. It always feels so strange, to think how quickly the weekend passed, how the span of three days feels like only a few hours, even after spending hours and hours just waiting in line to meet someone for a few seconds, and it’ll be an entire year before Patrick is here again. If Patrick is here again. Maybe something will happen, with his team or with hockey or family, and Patrick will never have the chance to come back to the Blackhawks convention again.  
  
Patrick looks over at Jonny, who’s already looking back at him. He wonders for the millionth time what Jonny is thinking.  
  
But neither of them say anything.  
  
**********  
  
The silence stretches on, even in the elevator up to the floor where Jonny parked, even while he pays in one of the automated meters for having his car in the garage for three days, even when they buckle themselves in and Jonny turns on the engine. There’s silence as the seconds waste away in front of them, as Jonny turns onto Lake Shore Drive in the direction of the bus station.  
  
Patrick has always considered himself pretty clutch. His team counts on him for beautiful goals, his coaches count on him to score when they know no one else is going to, his friends count him on to be too loud and too enthusiastic, bouncing off the walls with energy, and his family counts on him to be the brother and son that he’s always been. So Patrick gives himself a few moments of mental preparation, trying to settle the heart that’s pounding in his chest, and closes his eyes, digs his fingertips into the door handle, and just says it.  
  
“What the are we doing here?”  
  
His eyes are shut so hard it actually hurts, but there is no way he can look at Jonny right now, so Patrick just settles on bracing himself for impact. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that Jonny’s answer was the most terrifying acceptance or rejection he’s ever had to wait for, and each moment that passes in silence without a response seems to last forever.  
  
“Driving you to the bus station,” Jonny replies after a few seconds, and Patrick literally has to open his eyes just so he can roll them at Jonny because that is so not what he was talking about here and Jonny is definitely not that dumb. Like, he has dumb opinions about Canada but Patrick doesn’t think that means that Jonny is actually dumb. He does go to college, after all. Unless Jonny knows exactly what Patrick is getting at and he just doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he just wants to drop Patrick off at the bus station and be done with it.  
  
“No, Jonny. What are we doing here. Us, the two of us. What’s going on,” Patrick says, staring straight ahead out the window. He sees Jonny glance over at him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t say anything back.  
  
They turn down a side street and Jonny pulls over into a ‘No Standing Zone’ and puts his caution lights on. He turns in his seat, as much as he can with his seat belt on, so that he can look at Patrick, who’s already facing him. There’s a long stretch of moments where they just look at each other, the silence practically deafening as Patrick’s heart beat races.  
  
“I want us to be together.”

  
Patrick’s mouth practically drops open. “What?” he says, not sure that he’s hearing Jonny right. There’s like, suddenly a ringing in his ears and Patrick feels like he might start hyperventilating. Jonny being into him was like, definitely what Patrick was hoping to hear, even when he was mentally preparing himself for Jonny to say something like it was a fun weekend and a decent handy and maybe they’ll see each other on the ice sometime.  
  
But being together? Patrick doesn’t even know what Jonny could mean, the two of them being together when there’s a bus ahead that’s ready to take the two of them apart. Patrick would have never, could have never imagined that Jonny would be thinking anything remotely along those lines; he can barely process the thought even as Jonny’s words replay over and over again in his brain.  
Jonny looks away then, eyes trained on the lights illuminated on his dashboard. It’s awhile before he answers.  
  
“What I said. I want us to be together. I’d like us to be.”  
  
“Jonny, we haven’t even known each other for three days,” and Patrick Kane never would have considered himself to be a logical and rational person, but here he is, stating the obvious. There is no way Jonny wants to be with him after knowing him for three days. Like, Patrick is awesome, and Patrick knows that Patrick is awesome, but a lot of people seem to want a break from Patrick after a few days of being in his presence nonstop, so how Jonny is not having that reaction is kind of blowing his mind.  
  
“Technically, we’ve known each other for years,” Jonny replies. “We’ve played together before.”  
  
Patrick guesses it’s true, even though it’s really not. “Jonny, I barely remember you from when we were on the Flyers; we weren’t even friends then.”  
  
“I know,” Jonny concedes, still not looking at him. “But…I liked you then, Patrick. I was too young, too focused on hockey then to realize what it was, what I was feeling.” Patrick can understand that, because if there’s anything he can remember about Jonny from the Junior Flyers, it’s how focused he was, not messing around with his friends ever like Patrick was, if Jonny even had any friends on the team, honestly, always paying attention to the coaches and the drills and practicing harder than any of the rest of them.  
  
“And I know it’s only been three days. I get that. But Patrick, I don’t know about you, it doesn’t feel that way. It hasn’t felt that way since I saw you. Before I was even sure what your name was, it’s just felt like I’ve known you – it almost feels like I’m supposed to know you.”  
  
“I know,” Patrick agrees, almost reluctantly because it feels so weird – he’s still trying to process what’s going on between them as a few more seconds pass where Jonny doesn’t say anything else. Because as terrifying as it may feel to admit it to himself, it has felt that way. Jonny’s never felt like a stranger, even when he woke up to the kid staring at him at 5:30 in the morning in a side hallway at the Hilton. “It hasn’t felt that way for me, either.”  
  
Jonny looks back up at him then, gives him the smallest hint of a smile.  
  
“I wasn’t even going to come to the convention this year, with how close the draft is. I felt like I should be practicing, skating, working out and getting myself ready. But I did, it just felt like I was supposed to come this year, and here you are. I don’t know, Patrick, I don’t know what to say. Something about this just feels like we’re supposed to be together. And I want that.”  
  
“How is this even going to work?” Patrick asks. “I’m going to come visit you in North Dakota? You’re going to drive up to London to see me?” He doesn’t mean to sound the way he knows he’s sounding, like he’s mocking Jonny or anything, but Patrick barely sees his family, barely has time to breathe between the schedule he already has, he has no idea where he’s supposed to fit Jonny in any of that.  
  
“Yeah,” said Jonny, easy, like there’s no other answer to give. “I make time to see my family. I make time to see my friends. I’ll make time to see you, too. I can drive up on weekends, on breaks from school. We can call and text and video chat. We wouldn’t be the only two people in the world in a long-distance relationship, you know.”  
  
“And what the fuck happens next year?” Patrick asks. Jonny literally just said the word ‘relationship’ in a sentence talking about the two of them and it kind of short circuited his brain. He feels like he’s starting to get a bit hysterical; he doesn’t know how he hasn’t had a heart attack yet. “What happens when in a month from now you’re drafted, and a year from now I get drafted. What happens then, Jonny? We could be living in different countries, let alone different states and different cities. We could be playing on rival teams. What happens if I beat you? If you beat me? You’re going to call me after like it doesn’t suck? You’re going to say in post-game interviews that you don’t mind losing to my team because we’re together? Do you know how fucking hard all of that would be?”  
  
“First off, who says that my team would lose to yours?” Jonny asks, because, priorities. “And what hasn’t been hard, Patrick? What about hockey hasn’t been hard?” He raises his voice just a little. “Leaving home early, missing out on being a normal teenager, missing out on things with family, things with friends, what hasn’t been hard? It’s all been hard. But making it to the NHL? Lifting a Stanley Cup someday? That’s what makes all of this worth it, what has always made hockey worth it. So yeah, this is probably going to be hard. It’s going to be hard to see each other, and it’s going to be hard not to see each other, and it’s going to be hard to not tell anyone, because I don’t think we could.”  
  
Jonny stops for a moment, but still doesn’t look up at him. Patrick’s heart beat has finally started slowing down, rather than feeling like it’s going to burst through his rib cage.  
  
“But I don’t think that means this isn’t worth it, either,” Jonny says, finally. He looks back up at Patrick then. “I like you, Patrick. So much. More than anyone I’ve ever met.”  
  
This is easily the most intense conversation Patrick has ever had in his life. And that includes like, when he and his parents talked about him first leaving home when he was too young so he could keep playing hockey, and the painfully awkward sex talk his dad gave him when Patrick barely understood what sex even was.  
  
Patrick isn’t sure how long they both sit there for, not saying anything, until Patrick works up enough courage to say it.  
  
“I like you too, Jonny,” he says, finally, carefully. “So much.”  
  
Jonny smiles at him, but it’s small, again. “So what are we doing here, Patrick?”  
  
“I guess,” Patrick starts. He feels crazy, knows he probably isn’t thinking straight, knows there are probably so many other things that they need to think about and need to discuss to even think about trying to make this work, but with the way Jonny is looking at him, looking hopeful and gorgeous and like everything Patrick could ever want all at once, he’s not sure how he can think of anything else. “We’re doing this.”  
  
Jonny smiles then, a real smile, and it’s so bright it’s practically blinding. “Okay,” he says.  
  
Patrick thinks Jonny would have liked, kissed him or something after that conversation, like that’s definitely what would have happened in the movie version, even as he’s still trying to process what just happened in his brain, but instead Jonny just turns back in his seat and puts the car in drive.  
  
Jonny looks happier then, even looser than he did before, his arm resting on the center console, his fingers drumming lightly in tune to whatever the fuck weird music Jonny’s been playing that Patrick has been nice enough to not give him shit about. After a while, Patrick reaches over and rests his palm on top of Jonny’s hand, lacing his fingers between Jonny’s, and it’s a few seconds before Jonny squeezes, hard, and their hands stay that way, intertwined, for the rest of the drive.  
  
**********  
  
When they pull into the parking lot of the bus station, it’s mostly deserted and there’s 45 minutes until his bus leaves (it took a lot longer for Patrick to walk there then it took them to drive – Patrick should have realized that). Patrick runs inside to pick up the ticket that he’d bought online, and then rejoins Jonny in the car. He’s turned the engine off and unbuckled his seatbelt.  
  
“You don’t have to like, wait here,” Patrick says, even as he shuts the door behind him. “You can like, start on your way to North Dakota or whatever.”  
  
“I’m not going to leave you alone at night at a bus station in Chicago,” Jonny says, like it’s obvious, even though Patrick admittedly did walk by himself at night from this very bus station to the Chicago Hilton three days ago.  
  
They sit in silence for a few seconds; Patrick glances over his shoulder. He feels his face heat up, glad it’s too dark for Jonny to see him that well.  
  
“There’s, uh – you have a pretty big back seat, there,” Patrick says, carefully not looking at Jonny. “We could make out.”  
  
Patrick turns to look over at Jonny, who’s already leaning over and already kissing him before the sentence is even fully out of this mouth.  
  
Patrick is fucking awesome.  
  
**********  
  
Eventually they do make it into the backseat, because Jonny kept getting poked in his side by the gear shift, and Patrick was having a lot of trouble trying to successfully straddle Jonny in the driver’s seat. And maybe it’s more than making out, with Jonny laying Patrick down (as much as he could with like, confined space and shit like that) and giving him an insane blow job that was over for him embarrassingly quickly, and then Patrick helps Jonny jack off on top of him. He’s fucking filthy when they’re done; thankfully Jonny is an actually responsible adult who has tissues in the front seat, and thankfully he removed Patrick’s shirt so that Patrick still has something clean to wear on the ride home. He’s still been wearing Jonny’s UND shirt, and he puts it back on after he finishes wiping the cum off his chest. Jonny doesn’t say anything about him giving it back; Patrick doesn’t think Jonny would want him to.  
  
Jonny insists on walking him to the bus when they finally start letting people on board. They stop before he gets on, and Patrick is debating if he should like, give Jonny a bro hug or an actual hug-hug, like normal friends would do, when Jonny takes Patrick’s face in both his hands and leans down to kiss him. It’s soft and lingering, only for a moment but somehow feeling so much longer all at once.  
  
“Text me when you get home,” Jonny says, and Patrick is definitely not blushing or anything like that, just turns and starts boarding the bus.  
  
“See you, Jonny,” he says, stopping and turning back for a moment, not sure how else to say good-bye when every part of him doesn’t want to.  
  
“I’ll see you soon, Patrick,” Jonny says back, and when he does, it sounds like a promise.  
  
Patrick manages a window seat, so he watches as Jonny stands there, his hands shoved deep in his pocket and a soft smile on his face, watches even as the bus starts driving away, his body getting smaller and smaller with each second, until the bus turns the corner and he’s out of sight.  
  
**********  
  
The lack of sleep and the alcohol and the emotional turmoil and coming in Jonny’s mouth less than an hour ago finally catches up to Patrick, and he sleeps most of the ride home. He barely wakes up when they stop in Michigan, and Patrick sends a text to his mom about what time he should be getting in because she promised to pick him up in the morning. The ride’s a little bumpy, so at times he fades in and out of sleep, making his thinking about the weekend, about Jonny, seem even more dreamlike than it already does.  
His mother gives him a kiss on the cheek when she picks him up at the bus station in Buffalo, rattles off a list of questions that he answers the best he can, saying minimal about Jonny or the group of friends he’d spent the weekend hanging out with. It’s the middle of the day so his sisters are all at camp when they get home, and Patrick can’t help but collapse on his bed the second he shuts the door to his room.  
  
home  
  
He texts Jonny finally, after trying and failing to come up with anything cooler to say, and failing to come up with anything that wasn’t along the lines of like, ‘I miss you already’ and ‘I wish you were here’ and ‘I can’t shake the feeling of your mouth around my dick’, that would probably seem a little over the top.  
  
Patrick ends up passing out, and when he finally comes to he has no idea what time it is and there’s a fucking awful noise coming from his phone that he has to stop like, right the fuck now. He doesn’t even feel like opening his eyes yet, so it takes forever for him to feel around his bed for where he dropped his phone on top of the covers, and when he finally does find it he doesn’t have it in him to do anything other than grumble something unintelligible when he eventually answers.  
  
“Hi, Patrick,” he hears, and Patrick opens his eyes immediately, tightening his grip and pressing the phone to his ear.  
  
And Patrick smiles to himself, hoping Jonny can hear it in his voice when he says it.  
  
“Hi, Jonny.”  
  
**********

 

*  
*  
*  
Epilogue  
  
Patrick is sitting home on his couch, his hands clenched into fists, his leg bouncing up and down in front of him, his phone face down in his lap. His dad is sitting on the reclining chair a few feet away, and his sisters are playing on the floor in front of him. His parents had been confused as to why he’d insisted on staying home that night instead of playing roller with his friends for the first time in weeks. They understood that it was the NHL draft, but Patrick can’t pretend like he’s ever watched it before, has normally just read about it online the day after, so they didn’t really understand why he felt the need to start watching it now.  
  
“I’ve played with a lot of these guys,” he’d said, which was true, but he hadn’t met their eyes when he said it, anyway. “A few months earlier and this would’ve been my draft class.”  
  
And it’s not like his parents care about him staying in for a night rather than hanging out with his (slightly) delinquent friends, so they hadn’t said anything else to him about it.  
  
“Seriously, bud, if you’re this nervous for these guys, imagine how you’re going to be when it’s you next year,” his dad says, laughing at him a little.  
  
Patrick hasn’t told his family about Jonny, has managed to hide the texting and the late-night phone calls and the video chats that have been going on for the last month. He doesn’t think they’d mind, necessarily, but they haven’t ever broached the subject before, and since Patrick is leaving home in a few weeks for Canada anyway, it just hasn’t felt like the right time. He and Jonny had been trying to figure out when they could see each other again and had easily concluded it wasn’t going to happen while Patrick was still in Buffalo, but Jonny thinks he can get away for a few days once Patrick is back in London and before Jonny leaves to go back to college.  
  
He’d talked to Jonny on the phone in the morning, just a quick conversation since Jonny was staying in a hotel room in Vancouver with his parents and his brother, and had texted him a few times since then, even though he knows that Jonny’s day has been hectic with interviews and meetings and things like that so he’s not expecting to get much in response.  
  
Jonny has been ranked third overall for awhile now, but Patrick has followed the draft enough in the past to know that doesn’t mean he’s going to go third. He’s been able to tell that Jonny feels disappointed in himself, like going anything but first overall is a total failure, so he’s tried to make him feel better about it and hoping beyond anything that Jonny doesn’t get picked any lower; dropping any spots would completely destroy him.  
  
And again, Patrick’s not saying he believes in fate, or destiny, or any other lame shit like that, but part of him still can’t believe when he hears it.  
  
“The Chicago Blackhawks are proud to select from the University of North Dakota, Jonathan Toews.”  
  
And there he is, Jonny standing and hugging his parents and his grandparents, Patrick watching as he walks up on stage, jacket removed (his ass looking amazing in those suit pants, holy shit, Patrick needs to not pop a boner in front of his dad), watches as he puts the jersey for the Chicago Blackhawks over his shoulders, the jersey of the city where they met and fell in love (which is like, maybe a little dramatic, since technically that wasn’t the first time they met, and they may have never said anything about love to each other, at least not yet, but Patrick can’t pretend he’s not completely gone for Jonny in ways he never thought he could be. Just reading texts from Jonny makes him smile to himself like an idiot, and his sisters make fun of him).  
  
He texts Jonny now, even though he knows he probably won’t hear back from him for a while.

 _congrats!!! :) jersey looks good on u. they made the right choice._  
  
He follows it up a few seconds later.  
  
_not sure if im gonna wait in line for six hours to get ur autograph at the convention tho_

It’s hours later and Patrick’s in bed trying to fall asleep when he hears his phone go off on his bedside table. He considers not checking it, because there’s a good chance that it’s just Sam texting him something stupid about Mission Impossible III, which he finally saw in theaters, like he has been for the past four hours. But when he hears it go off a second time he finally reaches his arm out and pulls his phone under the covers with him. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust, but when they do, he sees Jonny’s name.

 _Thanks Patrick :)_  
  
And a second text.  
  
_At least I can promise you'll have a bed to sleep in next year. ;)_  
  
Patrick smiles to himself, burying his face in his pillow.

It’s a long shot, he knows it is. It’s going to be hard, he knows it is. But he’s worked so hard for everything, everything he’s gotten up to this point, and he’ll keep working, so that he can play hockey with Jonny someday, maybe not on his team, but in the NHL, and to make this work, so that they’re together again next year, sharing a hotel room, sharing a bed at the Chicago Hilton at the 2007 Blackhawks Convention.  
  
Because Jonny was right, because it is, and they are, worth it.  
  
And Patrick knows, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I do have a tumblr where I literally just reblog pictures of Patrick Kane and Jonathan Toews. Message me if you’d like to find me on there :)


End file.
